Memento Mori, Memento Amor
by You Light The Sky
Summary: You never stop being a Horcrux or the Master of Death. Harry finds himself journeying in his dreams to put the pieces of Tom Riddle's soul back together. EWE. TMR/HP.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.

Warning: oocness (most likely), homosexual love eventually, angst, mentions of suicide, drugs, some alcohol, swearing, character deaths, spoilers for all 7 books, this also doesn't follow the epilogue (and changes details at the final battle)

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><p><strong>Memento Mori, Memento Amor<br>Prologue**

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><p><em>-Excerpt<em>_s from 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' by J.K. Rowling, page 578 and 579_

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><p><em>Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and cloaked in the shadow beneath the distant chair.<em>

'_Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say goodbye for the present.'_

Harry nodded in agreement and was about to board one of the trains. Perhaps stepping in the right one would lead him home, perhaps he would end up elsewhere as Dumbledore had hypothesized before. He stepped on, and hesitated, sparing one last glance backwards at his deceased mentor, who was beaming proudly back at him.

For a moment, a selfish ridiculous moment, Harry contemplated staying there at King's Cross to continue chatting with the headmaster. It was very peaceful and calm in this in-between place. He felt truly content for the first time in his life.

But the cries of the mutilated thing by the bench returned Harry's thoughts to the present. The whimpers crept down into Harry's heart and soul, resurfacing bitter memories with the Dursley's where he was locked in a cupboard with only a cold bowl of soup and a few spiders for company.

He was stepping away from the train before he knew it, his feet leading him towards the hideous creature which curled further into a little scrunched ball of flesh, like a worm trying to dig back into the soil after being dried in the scorching sun. Dumbledore was calling him, but his mentor's voice seemed miles away in comparison to the loud and desperation Harry felt in hearing the creature's cries.

Harry crouched down, so that his eyes were level with the creature's back.

It was pale, with the spine protruding outwards in a sickening pale red. The shade reminded Harry of his own lightning scar, except this one extending down the creature's backside, up to the neck. It looked like a centipede trapped within skin.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said cautiously, from a few feet behind him, just as he reached out with his fingertips.

The fingers paused in midair and he turned to give the headmaster a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Albus..." It felt strange to call him that. But it no longer felt right to call him Professor either. "But I can't abandon him. You're right, I should pity the living... and as long as he's stuck at King's Cross, he's not really dead _or _living, is he? And somehow... that feels even worse."

"But, Harry—"

"It's my decision," he said. "I just want to... I just want to give him something, something he's never had."

There was a pause before the headmaster asked, "...and what is that, Harry?"

"I'm not sure."

He slowly wrapped his around the trembling thing, surprised at how fragile it seemed, like a new born babe. Despite its disfigured features and mangled body, it felt as if its bones could snap into two with a single rash movement or that its ribs could collapse lest Harry keep himself steady. It wiggled its limbs in his awkward embrace (for he had never learned how to probably hold a baby, if this even qualified as one), jabbing its elbows and joints into his side, prompting a few disgusted shivers.

But Harry didn't let go, didn't drop it. Instead, he held the thing close and watched intently, for something he didn't even know of.

Then the creature turned its head towards him and met green eyes with a deep red.

Harry had expected himself to recoil and abandon the inhuman thing but instead he found himself transfixed by an intense red stare. It was like staring into his own soul, a mirror of himself. He saw, not a helpless and ugly monstrosity no more, but something that had once been human, something that could still _be _human, given the chance.

And he mourned for it, because it had lost that chance so long ago.

"Albus."

"Yes, Harry?"

He turned towards the headmaster, keeping the piece of the Dark Lord's soul close to his heart.

"I think I know what I want to give it, now."

The blue eyes of the headmaster softened, "...And what is that, Harry?"

"Love... at least some form of love, he has never known."

So Harry knelt down, holding the soul towards him and kissed its forehead.

"_Thank you_," he hissed, whether in Parseltongue or not, he wasn't sure. Was he still able to speak it? He found himself thinking distantly. Did it even matter?

He was thanking this soul for giving him those dark abilities, things that he had cursed but had helped him out of danger. He was thanking it for accompanying his lonely self through all those years in Private Drive and the bad times at Hogwarts. He was thanking it for merely existing, because no one else would ever thank it again.

Then he placed it gently on the bench and turned his back, asking Albus if this was real at all.

_Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending, obscuring his figure._

'_Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?'_

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><p>Harry was gone, and Dumbledore's smile turned wistful as he regarded the trembling remains of the Horcrux beside him.<p>

"You are truly the greatest wizard that I have ever met, Harry Potter," he said, "for you have the courage to forgive, even your greatest enemy... even wishing him love."

The elderly man crouched down towards the thing.

"You are very lucky. I hope you realize that, Tom Riddle. Harry has a lot of work to do when he goes to save your soul."


	2. Chapter 1: The Dark Lord's Fall

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the wonderful J.K. Rowling does.

Thank you so much for the kind reviews and alerts! They made me very happy! I will try to update monthly during the school year and weekly during the summers.

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><p><strong>Memento Mori, Memento Amor<br>Chapter 1: The Dark Lord's Fall**

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><p>Coming back to life was like waking from a long sleep. His head was spinning, his limbs numb from being dead for what had seemed forever and the inside of his mouth felt drier than a river emptied from drought. He was sure that some dirt clung to the edges of his lips and his eyelids, from lying face down against the earth for so long. Incoherently, Harry wondered if he was like Sleeping Beauty, awakened from her corpselike state by a kiss.<p>

Except, it wasn't a kiss that had summoned him back into the world of the living, it wasn't even the prophecy or the war or even his friends, still desperately fighting. It was the Horcrux, that had died and been left behind at King's cross. The horcrux had allowed him to come back to life (and perhaps, being the Master of Death had helped a little as well).

But there was no time for that now.

He was dimly aware of voices, muttering in tones of reverence and delight, as well as the rushed shuffles of robes, almost as haunting as the quiet breeze rolling across the trees. It felt different now. The Forbidden Forest seemed to shake with quiet murmurs, almost alive and aware of Harry's every breath while Voldemort's followers remained oblivious to the ever so slight rises from his lungs.

Harry felt as if he could feel something whispering in the trees, a presence in the wind. He was hyperaware of the wand pushed up his sleeve and the invisibility cloak, cushioning his chest against the hard soil. And he could feel something _humming_within a few feet away. But before he could question it, he felt the same hum from his wand and cloak.

"My Lord...!"

He let his eyes part for a fraction, straining them upwards for a glance. It looked as though a congregation of black robes had decided to hover in a circle. It appeared that Voldemort had been blasted back when he had killed Harry earlier, a fact that surprised him. He wondered if it was an effect from destroying your own Horcrux or even...

"...Is he dead...?" The Dark Lord rasped, standing up despite the Death Eater's protests.

Harry hastily shut his eyes and stilled his breath. His fingers twitched for his wand while his mind, still sluggish from King's Cross, asked what he would do next. Was it more wise to feign death for a while and then catch the Dark Lord by surprise or would he try to kill him now? There was still Nagini to contend with...

The image of the infantile Horcrux from the train station flashed through Harry's mind and he felt his hold on his wand weaken.

No. He couldn't kill Voldemort or Nagini now. Not when he had seen what became of the shattered pieces of Tom Riddle's soul. That fate wasn't one Harry would wish on anyone.

_But__ what __can __I__ do?_ Harry thought. _Nagini__ has __to __die __eventually. __It__'__s__ too__ dangerous __to__ let__ the __possibility__ of __Voldemort__ returning__ to__ power__ again __linger.__ But __perhaps__ Voldemort__—__at__ least__ the__ part__ of__ Tom__ Riddle__'__s __soul__ that__ is__ Voldemort __now__—__might__ listen__ to__ reason, __a__ last__ minute__ pleading __for __remorse..._

A cool hand settled on his wrist, returning Harry's mind to the reality at hand. He didn't open his eyes nor did he dare to breathe. It was odd, but at that moment, Harry just knew from touch who this woman was.

"...My son... Draco... is he alive?"

Her grip was tight, cutting off his circulation, and Harry thought of his own mother then, how she might have looked before she had to die. Was she just as desperate to see to her son? Was she that brave that she would turn her back on her world just for him?

Fighting back the lump in this throat, he whispered back a fierce '_yes_.'

Then he listened to Narcissa announce that he was dead. Voldemort let out a cry of joy, rampantly speaking of how a mere child could never best him while cheers and sparks were thrown into the air enthusiastically. The death eaters' triumphant cries sounded like drums preparing for war but they could not drown out Hagrid's sobs.

_Don__'__t__ worry, __Hagrid. _Harry wanted to say, as he was lifted in the giant's arms, the 'guest of honour.' as Voldemort had put it, in the dark army's march of victory into Hogwarts. _Everything__ will __be __alright.__ I__'__ll__ find __a__ way._He saw the little horcrux in his mind again. _I__'__ll__ find__ a__ way._

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><p>He felt suffocated, even though Hagrid was carrying him reverently like a sacrificial lamb. Dizzying feelings were swarming within Harry's consciousness, pulling at him eagerly as the wand and invisibility cloak had earlier. He was aware of every death eater's presence, as if they were flames he could see in the dark and when they stepped into Hogwarts, Harry felt the school's aura swell up as the brightest of suns.<p>

He fought the urge to vomit, and instead, listened to the sound of Hagrid's sombre breaths, the footsteps of the death eaters echoing down the staircases and the frantic heart beat pounding in his chest. They stopped, after many turns and twists. Harry could guess from the number of steps and the general direction that they were at the doors to the great hall. It was odd but he could feel something surrounding the doors, like solid light had wrapped around it. He wondered if his venture into death had given a better perception of magic because then he could sense when Voldemort lifted his wand.

A hush fell on the death eaters, the anticipation heavy in the air. Again, Harry could feel the burning light swell within the Dark Lord's wand before it rushed out as an _alohomora_ charm, followed by a heavy _confringo_ which eagerly ate the doors in flames.

The doors were blasted apart with a third spell that Harry didn't recognize, but he felt the hinges break completely and the doors land heavily at the opposite end of the hall. Silence answered them.

Voldemort, and Harry knew that it was him because he could actually hear the wand singing with delight at the tasks it had achieved for its master, walked in first. His steps were calm and deliberate, the only thing anyone could hear or focus on.

The death eaters followed, with Hagrid moving slowly behind them. The giant was trembling, his massive legs dragged against the floor. Harry fought the urge to embrace him and tell his friend that he was alive. The magic shifting around him, from the wand and the invisibility cloak and the tug far in the distance, told him that it wasn't the time yet. He needed to wait.

"No... NO!"

It was Professor McGonagall. She was screaming obscenities that Harry had never dreamed that he'd hear from her mouth before.

"Harry, Harry! Harry, _please_ wake up! You can't leave me too!"

Her voice was joined by others. Some yelled in denial. Some were openly sobbing like Hagrid was. Some were swearing at him, asking why he was playing a joke, why he was failing them. Those comments stung the most, because they were right. He _was_ fooling them and when he had walked to his death earlier, he truly would have failed them.

_I'm sorry._

Hot tears burned within Harry's eyelids but he kept them shut. He had to keep pretending. No matter how much it pained him to hear his friends in despair; he needed to keep this facade up until he could come up with a plan...

"Yess..." Voldemort hissed, "Your saviour, the boy-who-lived is dead and no more! He stood not chance against me!"

"You liar! He wouldn't... he... Dumbledore..."

"Was wrong," The delight increased the more that Voldemort spoke. "The fool believed in love, that a silly non-existent emotion like love could defeat me. The boy had no such love for you—"

Harry was irritated about this. He had faced Voldemort with the intention of sparing his friends from further deaths. The Dark Lord knew nothing of real love—then he felt saddened, because Voldemort truly knew _nothing_.

"The boy was a coward, he walked to his death willingly, without a fight—"

"_Shut __the __fuck __up!__"_

Startled, Harry felt the beginnings of a lethal cutting curse about to be released from a familiar fourteen inch willow wand, with a unicorn core glowing brightly in the middle. And there was a forbidden curse, about to be ushered from thirteen inch cherry wand, from the other side of the hall.

Harry wrenched open his eyes, about to shout but it was too late.

The incantations were said and were fired towards Voldemort from left and right. But the Dark Lord easily repelled these attacks with powerful rebounding shields and in the case of the _crucio_from Neville's wand, dodged it completely. Harry felt the remnants of the torture curse being absorbed into Hogwart's walls, assimilated into the school's broad aura. As for the cutting curse, it had bounced back towards its castor.

Ron let out a cry and Harry saw the spurts of red gushing from his arm. Hermione screamed, running towards his side but Ron tried to refuse, babbling at her to stay back. She refused, pointing her wand at his wound, trying to whisper any remedies she knew. They weren't working. It had been a dark curse that Ron used.

Neville looked white and then he was livid, shouting out a succession of spells—stunning spells, banishing charms, more attempts at the _crucio_ like fireworks within Harry's head. He had never known magic could feel so volatile and destructive, like corporal emotions run rampant.

Professor McGonagall joined him, transfiguring overturned chairs and suits of armour into vicious dragons or lions to attack. They were alive with her fury.

They didn't work. Voldemort blocked or dodged the charms all and when he saw it fit, cast a quick freezing charm to hold Neville in place. The lions he killed with almost instantaneous curses and before the professor could utter another offensive spell, he blasted her into the wall and she fell.

"You dare to attack me?" Voldemort whispered, his cloak swishing as he walked down the center of the hall, wizards and witches watching him from both sides.

Hagrid stiffened, holding Harry closer.

No one moved. Harry could only hear Hermione's frantic whispers, echoing sobs from different students, Ron's pained groans and Neville's stilled wand.

It seemed like forever before Voldemort said, "You are both purebloods, yet you rebel. How foolish. Can you not see the perfect society I will create? Under my rule, the wizarding world shall rise into glory, but only if you see this opportunity and join with me."

His voice was soothing, magnetic, almost like a kind father's. Harry found himself hating Voldemort for that, having such a beautiful voice and using it to tempt others as the serpent in the Garden of Eden. He could understand why so many were charmed by him when he had been Riddle. It was a voice that willed many to his side, to the point of obsessed devotion.

"I do not want to hurt you," Voldemort continued gently. It made Harry want to vomit. "I do not want to harm any children tonight. You are all part of my plan, essential for magic to rise. You are precious to me. Dumbledore has been leading you all astray, weakening you and taking away your potential. He has ignored the dangers of integrating mudbloods into—"

"Into what? Your sick twisted vision of the world? Well, I want no part in it, you murderer! I _like _muggles and I like the way things were when Dumbledore was alive!" Ron shouted, "Bring Harry back to us! Give him _back_!"

He shouted another dark curse (Harry was starting to wonder if Ron had taken to reading in the Restricted Section of the library secretly or if the twins had had something to do with this increasingly violent repertoire) but it rebounded again from Voldemort's shields, hurtling back towards him.

"_Ron!_"

There was a sickening squelch, liquid falling on the floor and now it was Ron who chanting a name in horror.

Hermione, it seemed, had pushed him to the ground and tried to counter the curse, only for it to drive through her defences and hit her in the chest. She was bleeding heavily. Harry felt the tiny sparks of the curse, left over, eating away at her skin.

"...I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Mione... please don't... please don't die... Mione, hang on..."

They were both bleeding, on the floor. The only difference was how much blood they were losing.

Voldemort's laugh echoed into the ceiling. "How poetic, that the mudblood whore dies for the blood-traitor. It brings tears of joy to my eyes, a fitting end. I wonder how much you will suffer, Weasley, for defying me when I kill her in front of you..."

He raised his wand, the first syllables on his tongue. The air turned cold, as Harry realized that he was sensing the killing curse being channelled from the dark lord's wand. He panicked, thoughts of '_No,__ not__ them,__ not __Ron__ and__ Hermione,__ not__ them,__ no!__' _rushing within his mind.

Three things happened.

The magic from the wand, the cloak and the stone in the forest whispered, '_Now.__' _

Voldemort whispered, "_Avada__ Kedavra_."

Harry jumped up from Hagrid's arms (he ignored the loud gasp from the giant and bewildered looks from the death eaters) and dashed in between the dark lord and his two best friends, facing the frightening green light for the third time in his life.

It did not hit him.

Instead, it shot straight into the ceiling, as if repelled by Harry's mere presence. Staring in shock at Voldemort's equally stunned face; Harry was beginning to wonder if there was more to being the Master of Death than he had previously believed...

Every eye was fixed on him.

"Impossible..." Voldemort stepped back. "You were dead... I killed you..."

The dark lord looked so very small in the moment that Harry could not help but quirk a sad smile. "Apparantly I'm not that easy to kill. Boy-who-lived, remember?"

For a moment, Harry thought he saw something indescribable flicker in those red eyes, before the slits on Voldemort's pale face went livid and he aimed a wandless cutting hex towards Harry's face. Instantly, Harry brought up a shield charm, forgetting to say the words. The shield absorbed the spell before redirecting the remaining blasts towards the walls.

Voldemort howled and fired again, "You will not defeat me!"

Pandemonium erupted.

Students and professors, renewed with vigour at Harry's inexplicable rise from the dead, began to shout spells at the death eaters, who were still startled. Hagrid happily bashed a few death eater's heads together, shouting "He's alive, I should'a known!" Even more surprising, it seemed, was the moment the house elves stormed into the hall, holding up pots and pans, being led by brave little Kreacher, who was shouting encouragement towards their side.

Madam Pomfrey rushed towards Ron and Hermione, covered by Professor Flitwick (he really was quite the duellist, Harry was thankful that he was on their side) and Professor Slughorn who was surprisingly adept at hexes. "Go, Mr. Potter, go!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, while jumping up and down, firing charms. "We will take care of the rest."

He nodded his thanks before running blindly through the cross-fire of hexes and curses, shooting in different directions of the hall. Students, teachers and aurors alike were fighting for their lives. Harry could see Luna and Cho working on breaking the spell on Neville while Dean and Seamus defended them from misfire. To his surprise he saw that Draco and some of the other Slytherins were joining, blasting back the Carrows from a group of helpless first years.

Professor Trelawney was helping a haggard Professor McGonagall up, but the Transfiguration Professor still looked fierce and ready to maim and kill if necessary to protect her students. She and the Divinations Professor knocked more than their share of death eaters unconscious with a vicious blend of spells that Harry was going to have to ask them to teach him some day.

There was Bellatrix, taunting Mrs. Weasley with threats against Ginny and once, Harry would have been outraged to see this. But he trusted in Molly and the Order. He knew his task.

He ran towards Voldemort, but the dark wizard was stepping back towards the gates, looking at him with bewilderment... with fear.

"This cannot be happening... I will _not_let this happen. It is a trick!" Voldemort nearly slipped on his robes. Harry continued to approach calmly. A few stunners grazed his arms as they rushed through while all lethal spells seemed to bounce away from him. "You can't be alive... you cannot be..."

"You've said that already," Harry pointed out, once he was a foot away from Voldemort. "Denial won't change what is."

"_Don__'__t__ mock __me!_" He hissed, in what was perhaps parseltongue. Harry wasn't sure. If he wasn't a horcrux anymore, would he be able to understand it? "_I__ killed __you!_"

"_No,_" said Harry. "_You __killed__ yourself._"

Voldemort recoiled, realization dawning upon him. "_No...__that__ night__ on __Halloween..._"

"_Yes,_" he stepped forward, transfixed by the red eyes. "_You__ made__ a__ seventh __horcrux __that__ night...__ you __placed__ your __soul__ in __me... __And __now__ I__ live, __because__ the __one__ you__ killed__ in__ the __forest __was __your __soul._" He gulped, recalling the pained cries of the little horcrux. "_Do__ you __feel__ remorse__ for__ this?_"

There was a flinch and suddenly Voldemort was shouting, "_Avada__ Kedavra,__ Avada__ Kedavra!_" over and over, as if it were a prayer. But each time the green light rushed towards Harry's heart it would avert paths and dash into the darkened ceiling like a firework.

"You can't kill me," said Harry, "not with that wand."

Voldemort staggered back, his hands shaking. Harry had never seen the Dark Lord so unhinged. Maddened with rage, yes, but not so openly afraid.

"No... No... I will end you... You're mine, Harry Potter, my life to extinguish! I will not rest until it is my hands that squeeze the last breath out of your, even if I must do it myself!"

At first, Harry was unsure what Voldemort meant.

But when he heard the _expelliarmus_shouted, felt it burst through the air and nearly drive the wand in his sleeve away, he thought he knew. Then there were cold fingers clamped around his neck and Harry knew that if the killing curse wasn't going to work, then Voldemort would strangle him personally.

Harry gasped, pushing at the older man's chest and trying to kick him away. But Voldemort had a strong grip and Harry couldn't quite concentrate with the sensation of the air being blocked from his lungs. It felt like he was drowning, but he wasn't cold. Instead his body swelled up with pain, as if it were a balloon about to burst and then constrict into tattered little holes. Blurs filled his vision. The only things that stayed clear in Harry's vision were gleaming red eyes.

He kicked the dark lord in the groin. This loosened the grip and startled at groan from Voldemort, while Harry tried to punch him and get away. But the force of the hands returned, crushing Harry's throat with more force. He felt his back crush against the brick wall.

Hogwart's magic rose angrily, seeing the master of death being cornered in her vicinity. The enchantments on the ceiling rushed downwards in a bolt of lightning, separating Voldemort from Harry and burning the dark lord's hands.

Harry slumped back, gasping for precious air. He felt the lingering phantom pains around his skin, his neck and knew that the bruises would remain for a long time. Shaking, he rose to his feet, meeting Voldemort's livid gaze with calm.

"I told you...," he said with difficulty. His throat felt constricted, smaller after nearly being strangled to death, "that you won't be able... to kill... me..."

"Shut up!"

He felt himself being punched but did not fight it. Every time this occurred, it seemed that Hogwarts would interfere or Harry would be hit and get back up again. His gaze never wavered.

Voldemort seemed more and more erratic as time went on. His magic had no effect, neither did his physical attacks. Sweat trailed down his forehead and this time, when Harry looked at him with steady countenance, the dark lord shrank back.

"_What__ are__ you?_" He hissed. "_Why __won__'__t__ you__ die?__ Why__ can__'__t __I__ kill__ you?__"_

Harry managed another half-smile, blood trailing down his lips. "_Because __I__'__m__ not __afraid__ of __death__ anymore, __I__'__ve__ mastered__ it.__"_

"_Impossible__—"_

As Harry moved forward, Voldemort raised his hand, as if it would guard him from what Harry's words seemed to do.

"I don't want to kill you, Tom—"

"Do not call me by that name!"

"—I only want to give you another chance, please. Surely you can step down, surrender, subject yourself to Azkaban. It doesn't have to be this way. The prophecy does not have to be fulfilled if you renounce your title and redeem yourself. There's still hope for you, Tom, I know it."

"No," Voldemort twitched, his nostrils flaring. He even began to laugh hysterically, "What do you know about me, Harry Potter? You know nothing of my life, what I have suffered to become great—"

"I _know_," he insisted, stretching out his hand. "I know about the orphanage. I know about the muggles and what they did to you. I know who you've killed and I know why. Your horcrux in the diary once told me that we were both alike in startling ways. At first, I was horrified and disinclined to believe him, but now, I can see the truth in his words. You wanted acceptance, that's why you walked down your path. And... and I think I understand that, or at least I want to, if you'd let me. Just take my hand, say you'll try for some remorse. We can walk away from this."

Voldemort, no, Tom, stared at him eyes wide, as if Harry were death himself.

His fingers rose, spellbound by the words promising another path and Harry felt his heart beat faster and then—

-Harry felt great pain in his chest, ringing through his body. Shocked, he looked down, seeing long slender fingers wrapped around the wand that Voldemort had thrown away, now stabbed into his heart. Globs of deep crimson stained Harry's robes, oozing slowly around the yew stick and the length of Voldemort's arm.

He opened his mouth, but felt only blood gurgle up through it and stared helplessly at the shaking Dark Lord, who looked unhinged with madness.

"I'm sorry, Tom," said Harry gently to the other wizard's surprise.

He held Voldemort's hand in place, before he raised his own wand and dug the Elder Wand firmly into Tom Riddle's heart.

Crumpling, the dark lord's body fell over top of Harry's, a puddle of red accompanying them. As the world seemed to swirl away into the distance, and Harry heard the distant cries of his friends growing farther away, he wondered if he and Voldemort looked like star-crossed lovers, dying in each other's arms. It was an odd thought to have when you died for the third time, but then again, Harry had always been a very odd wizard.

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><p>A train whistle woke Harry. Once more, he found himself lying naked on the floor in a white space filled with fog. He stood, envisioning long green robes, happily putting them on when they appeared. Once he was decent, he looked around, wondering where the station was. The puffs of fog cleared, revealing the platform for King's Cross. Harry could see several trains lined up, all marked with different numbers which Harry took for their destinations.<p>

It was as peaceful and surreal as Harry had remembered it and it seemed like eternity since he had arrived between here and there at all.

Loud shouts broke Harry from his relaxed contemplation. He spun around, surprised to find the elder wand form in his hands when he thought of it. More puzzling was the appearance of the invisibility cloak wrapped around his waist like a belt and the resurrection stone, as a ring on his finger. But before he could analyze their appearance, he spotted Voldemort, thrashing against a crowd of faceless conductors, trying to pull him on a train, marked with the number zero.

Harry rushed over, feeling a shiver of unease when he saw each conductor's face painted pure white, not a hint of feature there. Only the general human shape and dusty uniform comforted Harry into believing that the conductors meant no real harm. They were only doing their job. It wasn't easy being death's collectors.

"Let me go! I don't want to go on, I refuse to die!" Voldemort swatted at the conductors comically, even attempting to bite one of their arms off.

Silently Harry winced and then did a wandless immobilizing charm on the dark lord. The elder wand happily completed the spell with ease and with more force than necessary. Harry had only meant to freeze Voldemort's feet in place, but the wand apparently thought that Voldemort deserved his body save for the head to be motionless.

"_You_," Voldemort spat, once he saw Harry. "This is _your_ fault!"

The conductors, sensing that the struggle was done, stepped back and watched the confrontation quietly. It made Harry uneasy, like he was giving judgement in a hall lined right to left with faceless statues.

He stared at Voldemort, noting that the man did not look younger or healthier in this place as Harry and Albus had (or did, at the moment). Instead, his features seemed more serpentine, covered with scales and his eyes were red and bloodshot. His back was hunched and there was a slur to his speech. He had become more monstrous looking in the afterlife, perhaps a reflection of his tattered soul.

"Well, to be fair, you did stab me with your wand when I was trying to help you make amends," Harry replied coolly. Being stabbed to death was not a pleasant experience. He would begrudge Voldemort for that for a long time.

"You shouldn't have bothered, stupid brat. Another idiotic ploy from that fool Dumbledore, no doubt, to rescue my immortal soul with _love_—"

"Albus is not a fool," Harry snapped, losing patience. He had been killed by this man twice, had his parents murdered by him and watched him torture his best friends. He had a right to be angry, "I didn't do it for _you_. I did it for the piece of your soul that was living inside me! He doesn't deserve to be trapped between life and death, to be a leftover to what's left of your main personality! He deserves a chance to be whole again and make amends for his mistakes. He deserves to be _human_, not that _you__'__d_ know anything about it, you bastard."

Voldemort's scales shimmered with anger and suddenly the white fog around him began to turn black. The conductors edged away, afraid of the dark magic infecting this quiet place. Harry watched in horror as Voldemort's neck extended like a snake's, breaking through the immobilizing charm.

"_Do __not__ underestimate __me,__" _Now Harry was sure that Voldemort was speaking Parseltongue, "_I__ still__ have __one __horcrux __left.__ Nagini__ will__ suffice __as__ a__ vessel__ to__ bring__ me __to__ life __but__ before __I__ rejoin__ the __living,__ I__ will__ gain __much__ pleasure __in __crushing __your__ pathetic__ afterlife __for__ good!_"

Harry felt truly afraid, watching Voldemort snap open his mouth to reveal sharp teeth. The man lunged, probably to swallow Harry whole. Harry raised his wand, thinking blinding of a stunning spell.

A red blur leapt over Harry and began to claw at Voldemort's eyes. Harry watched, transfixed with horror as he recognized the blur as the horcrux from before, trying to rip out Voldemort's eyes with its teeth and limbs, but failing.

It was vicious, scowling and screeching in syllables incomprehensible to man. Voldemort hissed, trying to pry the horcrux off, leaving red trails on its back.

"No!" Harry shouted, shooting a stunning spell towards Voldemort's middle, hoping to shock the dark lord away from his horcrux.

It didn't work. Voldemort only tore the horcrux off his face and threw it towards one of the trains. The horcrux hit its head against the steel outside of the compartment, sliding to the white ground with a groan. Harry wanted to rush after it, see if it was alright, but Voldemort dug his nails into Harry's shoulder, snapping his mouth open to eat him or kill him or...

"_Stupefy!__ Reducto!_" Harry roared, repelling the serpentine wizard away. "Don't touch me!"

Something wrapped around Harry's ankle, sending the teenager flat against the ground. He cried out, felt his body pulled towards Voldemort. It appeared that the dark lord had not only grown more serpent-like in the afterlife but had also acquired a long spiked tail. Harry might have found that hilarious on another day, but at the moment, it was downright terrifying, especially when those spikes were digging in his leg and Harry discovered that being hurt as a soul hurt a hundred times worse than when he was alive.

He screamed harder than he ever had when he had breathed air and Voldemort probably enjoyed every moment of it, the bastard!

Hot breaths were hitting his body; Harry could feel the snake face crawling up against his body, probably ready to destroy Harry's soul once and for all—

_**Harry!**_

It was a rough, infantile voice that sounded at the same time like an old man's. He gasped, feeling the spikes tear away from his leg and saw the horcrux once again, trying to bit and claw at Voldemort's eyes.

"Tom," Harry whispered, recognizing the horcrux for who it had been, who it was now.

_He __said __my__ name_, was the dizzying thought Harry had, _He__ can__ talk!_ He felt rather like a new parent filled with pride and affection.

"I think that's enough fighting now, boys, we wouldn't want any of your souls to blink out of existence forever, would we?" said a familiar voice.

Harry looked up and beamed, "Albus!"

The older wizard beamed in return, gesturing to his companion beside him. "Hello again, Harry. It's nice to see you and Tom again and... er... the other Tom," he nodded to the snake-Voldemort, earning a murderous twitch in response, "I saw the commotion between the other Tom and the conductors and thought I should fetch Death to sort out the problem. Death, I'd like you to meet Mr. Harry James Potter. He's my favourite protégé," Albus boasted, making Harry blush.

He studied the figure carefully, feeling very awkward and shy. The feeling quickly disappeared when he took in what Death looked like.

"Huh... I didn't think that Death was a businessman."

"You were expecting a grim reaper, weren't you?"


	3. Chapter 2: Death's Wager

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, hence the slash fanfiction (smile).

Thank you for the reviews, they are inspiring!

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><p><strong>Memento Mori, Memento Amor<br>Chapter 2: Death's Wager**

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><p>Death was an old man, with a beard much longer than Albus. It stretched out behind him like a tail, on and on into the white. His suit was black but weathered and worn with dust and grit. There were cobwebs decorating his cuffs and gnarled fingers in such fragility that Harry almost expected Death to be a quivering old man. But he stood tall with a quiet authority that would make people pause in awe, particularly when they looked into his eyes. Death had eyes that seemed to mirror your soul, so much that one felt frozen from their true reflection.<p>

He surveyed the platform silently, as if Harry and Albus were figures blended into the air. He held a long cane, with the symbol of the deathly hallows etched onto the silver knob at the top. With one tap, the faceless conductors from the train sprung up from Voldemort's shadow and were restraining the former Dark Lord from attacking one of the pieces of his soul. The little Horcrux was hissing at him, attempting to sketch one last scar upon the dark lord's face before the conductors held him back as well. Both pieces of Tom Riddle's soul were subjected to giving murderous glares at each other and hissing threats that Harry could, strangely, still understand in Parseltongue.

Harry saw blood running down the little Horcrux's ribs and wanted to run over to it, chant a few healing spells. But Albus stood beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. The older wizard shook his head, "Wait first, Harry."

He wanted to protest, but stilled his movements when he saw Death approach the two restrained souls, leaning rather closely to inspect Voldemort's snake-like face. Voldemort shrank back, his eyes dilated in some sort of fear which Harry did not understand.

"_Tom__ Marvolo__ Riddle __Junior_," Death spoke. His voice was like the rumble of train wheels against the tracks. "There has never been a more troublesome soul to collect than yours. What shall I do with your tattered remains now that you have destroyed yourself beyond recognition?"

Voldemort and the little horcrux shivered, both avoiding the omnipotent being's gaze and attempting to edge as far away as possible. They acted as if Death were a menacing thing instead of an old man with a cane, as if Death were a dementor coming to give a kiss.

"In this place, Death and the place between the living and the dead, is seen through the eyes of the individual," Albus explained softly to Harry. Even without legilimency, the elder wizard had a way of knowing what he was thinking. "If you fear Death, you will see him in the form that you most feared when you were alive, much like a Boggart. But if you accept death, you see him as he truly is."

That made more sense to Harry, who now felt a little sorry for Voldemort but more so for his little Horcrux. He could not imagine how he would feel if Death came to him as a Dementor. He wondered what Voldemort saw. Was it different than what the little Horcrux saw? Or did they fear the same thing, being of the same soul?

"Your other horcruxes are scattered across the other worlds, it'll be a mess just to retrieve them all, so much paperwork to fill out. Even then, I won't be able to put you back together. That's not my job," said Death, leaning on his cane thoughtfully. "Where to put you...?"

Harry was reminded of the sorting hat suddenly, that same voice in his head whispering, '_Now __where__ to__ put __you?_'

"I won't come with you!" Voldemort began to writhe again, his forked tongue striking out. "I'm not dead yet. I cannot die, _never!_ I have one more horcrux, _only __one __more_ and it will be enough... _Nagini...!__"_

"She has already been destroyed," Death informed him in that same pensive tone. "A Mr. Neville Longbottom took care of that," Harry felt a rush of pride and gratitude to his friend as he learned this, "so you are no longer 'immortal,' Mr. Riddle."

If possible, Voldemort became two shades paler. "No. You're _lying_. This is not possible. I did not feel her die, she must still be alive."

There was an amused chuckle, making the businessman's beard shake as Death wiped his eyebrows. "My, how many times you must have torn yourself into pieces, so much that you could not feel your horcruxes slipping away from you, one by one, over the years. Mr. Potter and his friends did fine work. I do so detest the making of horcruxes; they are very frustrating when I need to collect your dues."

Death advanced forward. The deathly hallows symbol on his cane began to glow as he moved closer towards the two pieces of Tom Riddle's soul.

"No!" Voldemort twisted back and forth, eyes wide. He bit at the conductor's hands but they did not move for they were mere statues and puppets of Death. "I don't want to die. I don't want to see them!"

Likewise, the little Horcrux was making strangled cries, sensing that the end was near if Death marked them with his cane.

"I'm sorry," Death said without sounding apologetic at all, "but this is the price for destroying your soul to this extent. There is no place for you in the world of the living or in any of the worlds beyond. I will have to dispose of your soul, erase it out of existence."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, moving forward. It was his third year all over again, feeling fear for Sirius when they were by the lake, about to be kissed by a swarm of dementors. Barty Crouch Junior's face, soulless as a husk, flashed in his mind. "What do you mean? You can't do that. That's worse than killing him... that's... that's the _end_."

It was horrible to think about. There would be no hell or heaven for Voldemort, no chance to suffer for his sins or try to redeem himself. No chance of reincarnation. There would only be an end. He would stop existing altogether and when the last person who knew of Voldemort died then he would be truly _gone_.

Harry could not and would not wish that fate on anyone.

"There must be another way," the words spilled from him before he knew it.

But Death continued to advance, raising his cane, about to touch it upon Voldemort and the little Horcrux's foreheads.

"Stop it!" Harry rushed forward, and yelled the petrifying charm with the Elder Wand. He stepped between Death and the pieces of Tom Riddle's soul, arms stretched as a shield. When he looked properly at Death, he was surprised to see that the business man was frozen and glaring at the wand in Harry's grip.

Death twisted his body slowly, until Harry muttered the countercharm and he was free. Then Death frowned, "I should never have made those hallows. I forgot how much of a nuisance they are."

He turned to peer at Harry, who felt his heart beat quicken from nervousness.

"Please step aside, Mr. Potter. This is a matter for me alone."

"No," he said. "I will not."

There was a stern strength in Death's eyes which made him regret speaking. But Harry did not budge from his spot. He could hear the little Horcrux breathing lowly behind him, in wonder, while Voldemort seemed to have forgotten how to speak at all.

"There is no saving him," Death said, essentially repeating what Albus had said when Harry first arrived at King's Cross. "He was entitled to this fate the moment he made his horcruxes, all of them. That creature is no longer human."

"That's a lie," Harry said. "He's still human and these pieces of his soul are human. They've merely forgotten how to _be_human. He just needs a chance to be put back together again... then he can redeem himself, get on any train you choose."

"That is impossible for me. Souls are arriving at every moment of every day, I have no time to search for lost fragments," Death informed him.

"Then let me find them," Harry found himself volunteering before he knew it. He almost stopped, but realized that he truly wanted to do this though he couldn't comprehend why. "I have the deathly hallows and I used to be a horcrux"—he wondered if he still was one, since he could still feel Voldemort's emotions and speak parseltongue—"I should help you with this."

"You are taking a great risk, for someone who is beyond saving..." Death warned. "You could lose yourself in the process."

"I don't care. He doesn't deserve this."

"But doesn't he?" The business man asked softly, "For killing your parents? For killing Cedric Diggory and so many others?"

Harry felt his heart twist in pain and remembrance but his conviction remained. "I won't let his soul be incinerated without proper judgement. It's not right," he thought of how fragile the little Horcrux was, like a newborn babe. How could anyone condemn it?

Death sighed, "You are falling into a trap, Mr. Potter. Loving one piece of Tom Riddle's soul is not enough."

"I won't change my mind," Harry said.

"Why are you doing this?" There was no exasperation to the question, merely curiosity and surprise. Harry doubted that a situation like this had ever appeared before in Death's career. Judging from the somewhat amused expression on Albus, he was thinking the same thing.

The question, at first, left Harry almost without words. But little images, sparks of memory of shivering under a thin blanket in the cupboard under the stairs only to feel warm again as if someone was wrapping their arms around him or the time when he spoke with a snake in the garden and he felt as if someone might have their hand on his. Little things like a touch on the shoulder when he was afraid or a tentative embrace.

He had always dismissed them as manifestations of the imagination or wishful thinking.

"There is some good," Harry replied slowly, never wavering from Death's gaze, "in Tom Riddle… I have seen it. And while I hate him for what he has done to me and so many others… I think I can give him the chance to redeem himself."

There was silence, only the train's engine, running and eager to drive the train forward, filled it.

The dried lips of Death widened, "You do not know the costs of what you are wishing for, Harry James Potter. You are a fool, a heroic, arrogant and doomed fool. Very well, I will give you this opportunity, but only because I am curious to see how it will unfold. I believe that you will fail nonetheless and then two souls will be erased from eternity instead of one, but at least this will have some entertainment value."

Harry felt rather offended by this. His retort was interrupted by the sudden glow of Death's eyes.

They weren't in King's Cross anymore, but on one of the trains, where the conductor sat. Albus looked with interest at the knobs and steering wheels, gasping in delight at the intricacies and workmanship. He looked like a muggle child at Christmas time, tinkering with a train set, even gesturing to Harry in enthusiasm.

Voldemort and the Horcrux were restrained in silver ropes and set in opposite corners. Death surveyed the engine silently before he nodded. Then he turned to Harry.

"These are my terms to the redemption of Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior's soul. Every night, you will dream and your own soul will return to this train to meet with your spiritual advisor and the horcruxes you have collected. You will journey to different worlds, searching for the pieces of his soul until you have found them all. Then you must find a way to piece them back together.

"But every night you spend on this train will be equivalent to a day of your life span taken away. Every wound you suffer here, you will experience when you awake. The only objects you may bring with you are the deathly hallows. Every time you die in one of these worlds, I will take away one hallow. When you have died three times, you will have nothing to protect your soul from me, Harry James Potter, and I will collect it. You will die and Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior's soul will be erased."

Harry felt his throat dry. He was about to protest that the terms were not fair but knew they were more than fair. He was cheating death enough as it was and even going against death's wishes to save his mortal enemy. There was always a price for everything.

(He wondered if there was a price for wizards and witches, when they used magic.)

"What is a spiritual advisor?" Harry asked.

"Your spiritual advisor will be a soul waiting in the between space between the living and the dead, one who will drive the train for you and guard the horcruxes whenever you return to your body when you wake. He or she will give you directions and advice on how to proceed with your quest but will not be allowed to enter the worlds with you or actively search for the horcruxes," Death explained. "You may choose who they will be."

"I…," Harry blushed and turned to Albus, "Sir, I know its short notice but would you…?"

His former headmaster beamed at him, "Of course, my dear boy. I would be insulted if you _didn__'__t_ ask."

Harry felt relieved and decided that he would ask him later how this would work. It was confusing enough as it was. He couldn't help but think it odd that Albus stayed in King's Cross instead of passing on… Could he have foreseen this…? No, but maybe it was something else…

"I will not go along with this! I refuse to be _saved_ by that brat!" Voldemort hissed, "I would rather die!"

"Would you?" Death asked cheerfully, swinging his cane towards the snake man almost menacingly, "That would make things much easier for me and my workers, though then I'd lose my entertainment."

"Oh shut up!" Harry scowled, "I'm not doing this for you. I feel sorry for your other Horcrux for having to put up with you."

"Harry," Albus said in warning, "They are essentially of the same soul. If you want to help Tom, you will have to accept all of him, all of who he is… even if it disgusts you."

He gaped at him, for he hadn't considered that possibility.

"Will you back down from the quest then?" Death inquired. "I do have a schedule to keep up."

"_No!_" Harry said quickly. "I will not go back on my word. I will help Tom and Voldemort as agreed." He would pass the bridge of reconciling his perceptions of Tom and Voldemort when it came, but for now, he knew what he had to do. He ignored the voice in his head advising him to think before he acted and the worry that Albus had in his eyes.

Death laughed again, his beard shivering with the movements. "Very well, you are a most amusing _Master __of__ Death,_Harry James Potter. I believe that the boredom should be filled quite nicely with you. We will shake hands and agree to the terms."

"Alright," agreed Harry, who held his hand out.

The businessman snapped it up in a surprisingly hard grip. Harry could feel the wrinkles in the fingertips like gnarled oak. He watched in fascination as Death repeated the terms of the quest, eyes aglow.

"Do you accept and adhere to this contract, Harry James Potter?" He heard the omnipotent being murmur.

"Yes," he answered without hesitating. "I accept these terms."

The back of his hand began to burn and Harry tried to move it back. But Death kept hold of his wrist firmly until the worst of the pain passed and Harry could only feel a light sting. When he was free, Harry inspected the back of his right hand, slightly alarmed to see that the symbol for the deathly hallows was tattooed in black against his skin.

"Every time you die... one hallow on your tattoo will scar into your hand in blood, that will be the hallow I will take away. When the entire tattoo transforms from ink to blood, your soul is forfeit and the quest is over," Death whispered.

He bowed, somewhat mockingly at him, "Good luck, master of death."

Death was gone in one blink of an eye, leaving Harry on the train with Albus and the two soul fragments.

"Well that was exciting," Albus commented. "Shall we start the train, my boy, or do you want a few minutes to take a breather? I have a few lemon drops in my pouch we could share, though it is a shame that I don't crave them as much as I did when I was alive. It's not really the same, not feeling hunger."

"Right," nodded Harry. "Er, Albus, what do we do afterwards?" Then a more alarming question came to mind, one that he had forgotten to inquire of Death, "How do I even start to look for the Horcruxes? From what Death implied, there may be billions of worlds out there!"

"Oh, well by accepting the horcrux back into yourself, my dear boy. Though, I must warn you that you risk Voldemort rising back to the world of the living if you should be succumbed by his presence. Luckily your horcrux seems highly protective of you."

As if he understood the conversation, the little horcrux hummed in agreement, scrunching its features into what could have possibly have been a smile but looked more like a homicidal killer's grin.

_**Harry**_, the horcrux said fondly.

He beamed in return. "Well, alright. I think I can accept being a horcrux again. I don't think I ever stopped being one actually, I still hear his voice in my mind and I can still speak and understand parseltongue."

"Really?" Albus said thoughtfully. "That's very interesting... Well then," He gestured Harry towards the little horcrux, "I suppose you should invite him back into your soul, Harry."

"Er, okay," Harry moved forward, feeling awkward about the whole thing altogether. He wasn't sure how to become a horcrux again, would he have to know how horcruxes were made in specific detail first? But Albus didn't seem too concerned about the details so Harry reasoned that he needn't be either.

He crouched down in front of the infant horcrux and touched the silver ropes that were binding its arms and legs rather cruelly. The ropes slipped back, loosening and releasing the little horcrux. It peered up at Harry with glassy big eyes. He found their deep red colour to be absorbing.

Slowly he reached his hand towards the horcrux and offered it his hand.

"Tom?" He asked it quietly, "Do you want to come back with me?"

A small deformed hand rested down upon his and the horcrux made a noise which told Harry that he wanted to be picked up.

Harry laughed and carefully held the horcrux in his arms, close to his body.

"I will take that as a yes. I'll be your vessel again, Tom."

The mark on Harry's hand burned again like hot fire, along with Harry's scar. Then Tom and Harry were gone from the train, leaving Albus and Voldemort alone.

"Well," Albus said happily, "why don't we play a few muggle card games while we wait for Harry to return? I am extremely fond of crazy eights and go fish, even if they have nothing to do with insanity or fishing as their titles imply."

"Dear lord," Voldemort moaned, "this is worse than death. I _refuse_to play with you, _Dumbledore._I know you're planning something."

"Oh look!" Albus held up the pack of cards he had conjured into the air, ignoring the snake man's protests entirely, "They're a limited edition with rabbits painted on the back! Aren't they lovely?"

It was going to be a very long afterlife.

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><p>"Where am I?"<p>

Harry looked around, finding the setting both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He had been holding the horcrux, but not he found that it had disappeared from him, leaving him alone in this room. It was half painted in red and gold and half painted in silver and green. It was as if someone had chopped the Slytherin and Gryffindor and then slid them together to make a perfect fit.

He glanced out the window and saw different images flash against the glass. Sometimes it showed Hogwarts grounds or the Dursley's yard. Other times Harry saw what seemed to be flashes of memory, walking with Hermione and Ron in Hogsmeade or rushing through Diagon Alley to buy books. The windows showed different memories depending on their position.

One particular window, shrouded in dark curtain, showed distorted images because the glass was cracked. Harry crept closer to it and saw the memory from the pensieve that Dumbledore had shown him in his sixth year. It was the memory of Mrs. Cole, when she met Merope and the infant Tom for the first time. But this memory seemed to be an extended version, for it continued beyond when Dumbledore's memory had stopped.

Harry saw Mrs. Cole leave Tom alone in his crib for several days, only returning to feed him and change him as needed. Other than that, Tom was isolated in a small room with blank white walls, empty of all furniture but the crib and a small drawer. He never cried and so the caretakers never believed that he was any trouble.

But Harry saw, Harry knew. There was a loneliness in the babe's eyes, a longing for a mother and unconditional love that Harry could understand all too well.

"Tom," he whispered, his breath fogging up the glass.

Then, as if the glass had heard him, it parted and Harry fell through the window into the memory. He felt startled, but not too surprised. He remembered the diary horcrux (as well as the pensieve) and how it had been able to let Harry walk through its memories without a problem.

But the babe was _looking_at him, actually looking directly at Harry like he was a beautiful and wonderful toy that had fallen from the sky made solely for him.

Harry fidgeted nervously, but reasoned that perhaps the baby in the memory only happened to look in Harry's direction. It did not mean that he could actively interfere in this memory...

He moved closer to the crib, peering at baby Tom and studying his curls and yearning expression. He reached down, half expecting his hand to pass through the baby like a ghost. Instead, Harry was surprised to see that he could feel the baby's arm, tangible as any other form.

Baby Tom lifted his arms at him, a silent demand to be held.

Harry melted at the sight and conceded.

"You don't have to be alone again, Tom," he whispered to the baby's brow.

"Are you sure?"

The baby was gone and suddenly there was a child standing in front of Harry. But he recognized him quickly from the frown on his face and the grey, calculating eyes. It was Tom Riddle again; the horcrux that had once lived in him and that was back now.

"You left me, let yourself be killed," the boy said, something flickering in his tone that Harry could not decipher.

He felt guilt heavy in his heart.

"I'm sorry," Harry answered, "for leaving you, I mean. Not for dying. That part was necessary."

"It's never necessary to die."

"Yes, it is," Harry said, thinking of his parents, or Sirius and Lupin. "We all die someday. Others sooner rather than later."

Tom's face wrinkled in disgust, "I never want to die."

"I know," he replied patiently, "that's why you made your horcruxes."

"I never want _you_to die either."

Harry's mouth hung open and he stared, as if this would prompt further explanation but Tom only stared intently at him.

"I would never have... I didn't know you _cared_."

The boy lips twisted into a frown, "You are my vessel, _mine_. You mustn't risk your life needlessly like that again."

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or offended by these remarks. He didn't like the idea of being anyone's possession but decided to let go of the matter for now, seeing how stubborn the child Tom was being at the moment. He wasn't in the mood for arguing, much less with the horcrux.

Besides, he had a feeling that Tom's cold front was hiding more.

"You protected me from, well, yourself... from Voldemort, at the train station... I don't understand," Harry commented after much thought.

Tom tensed and stared at Harry calmly. "You thanked me, even when you didn't have to and you held me even when I was in such a lowly form. You are the one I don't understand. I couldn't let my other self kill you until I figured you out."

Harry's lips quirked upwards, "Alright."

"Make no mistake, I returned because you are my rightful vessel. You are my soul essentially. I have no intention of helping you with your blasted quest unless you're about to get yourself killed again. I am quite content to stay here like this, with you as my sole vessel. I do not _care_ what happens to you in the least."

He hid a smile, "If you insist."

"I do," Tom sniffed, crossing his arms. The effect was meant to be intimidating but rather lost its effect when the person was barely half Harry's height.

"But thank you anyways," Harry told him sincerely.

"For what?" Tom snapped in irritation.

Harry did not answer, at least not aloud.

But quietly he remembered the comforting presence when he was younger, doing chores for the Dursleys and believing himself to be alone.

_For __being __with __me_, he thought.

Tom's eyes widened and Harry wondered if he had said that aloud after all when voices began to sound in his ears, urgent and sad.

"_Harry!__ Harry!__" _They were screaming. "_Please __wake __up, __please __open __your __eyes.__"_

"_There's little chance of survival... miracle that he's still breathing... in the hospital wing for days..."_

"_...transfer to St. Mungo's... no interviews, are you mad? He's lying there half-dead and you want...?"_

"_...Harry... Harry I need you... it's Mum she..."_

"_They killed her, she's dead too and now he's all alone. You're his only family left... please wake up..."_

Harry froze, recognizing the voices of his friends and suddenly feeling very guilty for 'dying' in front of them at the battle of Hogwarts.

Tom was pushing Harry towards the window, "Your mudblood friends need you now."

Before Harry could lecture him on his language, Tom put a finger to Harry's lips, that intent look returning again and when Harry next opened his eyes, he saw a white ceiling and several worried faces.


	4. Chapter 3: Scars of War

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Thank you for all the reviews. They help motivate me when I get stuck in writer's block (smile).

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><p><strong>Memento Mori, Memento Amor<br>Chapter 3: Scars of War**

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><p>No one spoke for the first few moments. Harry couldn't see anything, only blurs of figures that he knew to be his friends, standing over him. There was magic in the air. Harry could feel it (still) humming happily around him, protective wards and healing spells. He could make out the colour of the ceiling, white with long arches and it comforted him. Even the smells of medical potions and bandages, of the linen blankets and dried blood gave him a feeling of peace. St. Mungo's felt just like Hogwarts' Hospital Wing. But it was funny, for Harry had never felt this way about the Hospital Wing before. He supposed that he was just glad to be resting for once, instead of having to worry about the war or the horcruxes.<p>

_You still have to worry about me, Harry, _Tom's voice whispered, making Harry's knee jerk forward in surprise. _Do not forget your reckless promise to 'save' the pieces of my soul, _the horcrux said mockingly.

Harry felt the blood rush from his face. _Oh god, _he thought back in return, _you're speaking to me... in my head!_

_Yes, how observant of you._

_But... but that's not possible! _But somehow it was. Harry could feel Tom there, observing everything through his eyes. It was unthinkable. He had always felt that there was something, or someone, with him but not to this extent. _This has never happened between us before. Why now? Why—_

"Oh Harry!" Voices exclaimed in his ears. Tom's presence retreated into the depths of Harry's mind, as if the horcrux wanted to give them privacy. But Harry had the impression that his new companion had no intention of witnessing something that he saw as disgusting.

He found himself being yanked upwards into a tight embrace, arms around his neck. Harry inhaled sharply, remembering how Voldemort's pale fingers had tightened around his neck before. He suddenly that he was back at that moment in time, relieving how it pained him to breathe, how spots of white began to appear at the corner of his eyes and how desperate he was to make the dark lord _listen_...

"Get off him; can't you see his bruises there, Ginny? You're making him uncomfortable!"

The arms retreated instantly. "Oh... Oh I'm so sorry, Harry," he heard the forlorn reply, "I was just so happy to see you awake and I didn't _think_... are you alright?"

"Just give him some space to breathe," said the same voice that had reprimanded her before.

That was Ron, good old Ron. Harry felt relieved to know that his friend had survived the dark curse. He didn't know what he would have done if Ron or Hermione had died...

He felt as if his breath had been stolen away. "Hermione! Ron, what happened to Hermione? Is she alright? Is she... is she alive as well?"

"Easy there, Harry, she's fine."

And then—

"Yes, yes, I'm here, Harry," he felt Hermione's nimble fingers take his hand, clutching at it tightly as if she were afraid he might disappear the moment she let go. There were rubber gloves covering both of his hands and Harry was curious to know why. "Don't worry. I'm alright now, thanks to Madam Pomfrey."

His shoulders relaxed and Harry felt laughter bubble weakly from his lips. _That woman is a saint; _he wanted to say before his laughs quickly fell into harsh coughs. His friends all reached for him, Hermione squeezing his hand so tightly he thought it might fall off, Ginny cautiously touching his shoulder while Ron steadied his shoulders with one hand.

"Take it easy, mate. The mediwizards have told us that it'll take a while for your throat to heal. Voldemort left some bad bruises there which we tried to heal... but for some reason they wouldn't _fade_. Not with magic. So we have to let it heal naturally..." Harry could hear the scowl in Ron's voice.

A goblet was pressed against his lips. Harry squinted and made out and orange halo around what he could guess was Ginny's head. He sipped the water gratefully, feeling the way it eased the pain in his throat with soothing coolness. Then his glasses were placed gently on his nose by Hermione, who still hadn't let go of his hand, neither had Ron, who now held the other one.

Harry felt his mouth dry as he laid eyes on his two most precious friends and the girl he had loved at the beginning of the year.

Ron's arm was heavily bandaged, in a sling around his neck. It appeared that the wounds inflicted from the curse would not be healed so easily in a fortnight. He was clean and freshly shaven with the same second-hand robes but there was a steady confidence in his steps now. It was in the way his eyes sought out Hermione's tenderly and the way he regarded Harry with pride and affection. But there was something sombre about him now, desperation at the edges of his stance which only calmed when his eyes returned to rest on Harry.

Hermione, on the other hand, sat stiffly in a stool by the bed. Her hair was a mess, tied carelessly in a bun and there were bags under her eyes but they vanished when she smiled at him like he was the morning sun she'd missed after six months of dark winter. Harry could see bandages peeking out from the collar of her shirt, almost blending with her pale skin. He remembered how much blood she'd lost in the final battle and his hands trembled. Both his friends squeezed back again.

Finally he looked upon Ginny, beautiful Ginny who had possessed a quiet fieriness which had warmed his heart. Now when he looked upon her, he felt only distant affection as one might feel to his best friend's sister. Harry felt dismayed to realize that what he had thought was love for Ginny had disappeared. The fire had been extinguished with the cold reality of war and he could not look at her the same way again.

But she was still Ginny. He looked at her and still saw the qualities in her that he found admirable. Her eyes were wide and caring in a way that he would always cherish and they hid the stubbornness which fuelled her every spell. She smiled weakly at him, refusing to let any of her tears fall.

_That's my girl, _Harry thought fondly. Then he felt sad, because he knew that Ginny wasn't really his, not anymore.

He cleared his throat and tried to speak again, tell them that he was glad they were all alive and well but Ron and Hermione both growled at him to shut his mouth. They tightened their grips on him and then he understood that they already knew what he was going to say because it was shining in their faces.

They were glad he was alive too.

When Hermione leaned over him and wiped his cheek, he wasn't surprised to see that he had been crying.

'What happened?' Harry mouthed to them after sitting in silence for several moments.

Even moving his mouth seemed to strain his throat. Harry wrinkled his nose, feeling the tight bandages around his neck and the stiffness of his limbs. He wondered how they had healed the stabbing wound in his chest but he didn't dare ask. He did not want Ginny to know and he wasn't sure if he should disclose to anyone that he had become the Master of Death. Perhaps that alone had saved him.

Thinking of this made Harry think of Tom, of Voldemort and of his task but that made his head ache even deeper. Later, he would think of this later. For now he would focus on the living.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances while Ginny moved away from Harry and slumped back against her seat.

"We all thought you were dead," Hermione admitted, a sob escaping her while Ron glared at the shadows, like they were to blame for the whole affair. "When the professors found you... you and V-V-Voldemort... both of you were in a puddle of blood. I demanded to see the memories in a pensieve as soon as I was well enough to leave the hospital wing... it were awful. I'd never seen so much blood and it was just you and _him_, cold as death.

"They reported that you had no pulse at first but Professor McGonagall and Hagrid wouldn't give up. They kept trying to resuscitate you even though it'd been over twenty minutes and finally... finally after half an hour, just as Professor McGonagall began to accept that you weren't breathing anymore, she saw your chest move up and down. The wound was still there, but it no longer pierced through your heart. Instead it left a scar...

"The staff moved you to the hospital wing with the rest of us but you kept moving between being alive and dead. Madam Pomfrey noticed it before any of us, how sometimes you stopped breathing and then an hour later you would be alive again. Professor McGonagall and Hagrid stayed at your side, checking on your pulse to make sure you didn't leave us. It was only when Kingsley finally got some order at the Ministry that he came to visit you and relieve them both of their stations. He insisted that you be brought to St. Mungo's for care. They protested but there wasn't anything they could do. This... what happened to you, Harry, is, was beyond anything that any witch or wizard had ever seen.

"When Ron and I were released from the Hospital Wing, it'd been a week. We went to see you straight away. Ginny was already here with you. Ron and I have only been here three days."

Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't thought he'd been gone that long. The meeting with Death had felt an hour long at most. Even before, when he had met Albus at the train station after he'd first died, the time at the station had lasted barely a moment in the living world.

_What changed? _He wondered. _And when I try to find the rest of Tom's soul in my dreams... will I be unconscious for over a week again?_

_Who knows? _Tom's voice resurfaced again. _Inquire of it from the bumbling fool. He will have answers. He always does. _The last was said with venom.

Harry frowned.

"The press has been having a field day the past week, trying to interview you even though you've been out like a light. Bloody mental of them," Ron grumbled. "We've had to hex so many reporters out of your room. All they wanted was to take pictures of their great saviour without giving a damn to how much rest you need. The bloody parasites want to know how you defeated you-know-who, what your injuries are—no one who knew from the battle would tell them, see."

"Poor Kingsley has been swamped with paperwork, trying to rebuild the Ministry. He's had to interview every employee from scratch in case they might still be you-know-who sympathizers. There are still a lot of death eaters on the loose. They've been threatening to kill you, another reason why Kingsley moved you here... better security. Though I think Hogwarts would have been just fine. We could protect you without a problem," Ron nodded.

"Death eaters?" Harry mouthed in reply. "Who?"

"The Carrows... Antonin Dolohov... and Bellatrix Lestrange..."

It was Ginny who answered, with the most hatred he'd ever heard from her.

When he looked at her, the walls that had been blocking her tears broke down and Ginny pressed her head against his arm, "Mum tried to fight Bellatrix for me... s-she managed to slice off Bellatrix's wand arm with some kind of curse but... but then Bellatrix stabbed her in the eye with her wand and... and then... Bellatrix used her left hand to cast the Cruciatus cruse on her. Mum screamed... so much... but she wouldn't move, because I was still there and I didn't have my wand. Bellatrix disarmed me earlier. But when Mum got the chance she cast some other dark curse at Bellatrix. It ate at Bellatrix's skin, Harry. It made her look like a half-demented inferi or something."

Ginny shuddered. Ron let go of Harry to awkwardly hold his sister with one arm while Harry wished he could speak, could say anything to take the pain away.

But Ginny kept staring at the rows of empty white beds.

"Bellatrix was so angry... She howled like a banshee and shot one final curse at mum before Dolohov and the Carrows came running towards her. Voldemort was dead at that time, you see. They were afraid and grabbed the next strongest witch in his ranks, Bellatrix and disapparated. But... not before Bellatrix swore that mum would die within the month. '_I'll make you pay,' _she said, _'everyone who Harry Potter loves will pay.'"_

Bile began to gather in Harry's throat. He looked desperately at Ron and Hermione but they looked resigned, having probably heard the story many times already. Hermione's hold around his hand was so tight now that Harry couldn't feel it anymore and Ron had a fierce look which promised hell for anyone who dared to touch his friend.

Slowly, Ginny returned her gaze to him, but it was hollow.

"Mum is in St. Mungo's now. She's in a magical coma. She hasn't woken up."

* * *

><p><em>It's my fault.<em>

This thought echoed again and again through his thoughts, a relentless accusation that he could not be free of.

His friends, sensing this, reassured him that he was not to blame. They quickly moved the subject to other matters equally as depressing. Fred's funeral would take place in a month. The Weasley family refused to accept the possibility that Molly would die by that time. They were convinced that a cure could be found in that time and would not bury Fred until Mrs. Weasley was there to witness it. Andromeda Tonks organized Remus and Tonks' funeral to take place in two days.

"Teddy is fine," Hermione sniffed, seeing Harry's worry. "He doesn't know yet..."

_How could he? _Harry wanted to find his godson and hold him. _He's only a baby. He doesn't understand what's been taken from him. It will always hurt him, even if he tries to hide it. _The guilt twisted in his chest and Harry swore that as soon as he was better, he would visit Teddy. He would be the best godfather he could be and love the boy as his own son. The ferocity of this vow surprised him. He hadn't known that he could be capable of such strong love.

Ron continued. He informed Harry that Percy and Arthur were working closely with Kingsley. The Ministry was slowly being pieced back together. Arrests were being made every day. People were rebuilding Gringotts, Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. The goblins had apparently forgiven Harry once Professor McGonagall had returned the sword to them. She also made a show of proclaiming what a pivotal role they had in the Dark Lord's downfall while the press was there, something Hermione had suggested.

Hogwarts was closed for the year and would reopen the next year. Hagrid was in charge of reconstruction, under the guidance of the headmistress McGonagall.

"She wants us to come back next year to finish our seventh year and for everyone else to repeat their years since the exams were disrupted and the curriculum tampered with while the Carrows were present," Ron shrugged.

Harry had nothing to say to that. Instead he mouthed, "Can I go see Mrs. Weasley?"

Alarm passed through Hermione as she jumped forward, "But you're not well enough yet, Harry. You need your rest. We don't know if..." She stopped speaking, her other hand in a fist on her lap. "We don't know if you might relapse again."

Choked words forced their way out. "I... I won't..." He said aloud. Ron pushed Harry back against the bed again.

"Mate, stay still, stop speaking."

"But..." Coughs escaped from him again and he felt his vision blur.

"Look, I promise that I'll take you to see mum later... but... when you're feeling better. Just rest for now. We'll be here when you wake up."

_You don't understand. _Harry wanted to say. _I need to see her. I need to see what I've done. The consequences of my actions. _If he'd been quicker in confronting Voldemort, if he hadn't waited... perhaps he could have saved Mrs. Weasley from Bellatrix. Perhaps he could have prevented the curse from being inflicted.

But that was a silly thought. There was no preventing death. What happened would happen. He couldn't focus on what he could have done in the past. There was no changing it. He could only think of the future and where he would go from here.

He tugged on Hermione's wrist just as she was about to follow Ron and Ginny out of the room.

'Will they be alright?' He mouthed to her. He wondered how Ron was handling the grief of losing a previous brother and seeing his mother comatose. He wondered how Percy and Arthur were faring, if they were still at odds with each other. He wondered how George was coping from losing his other half.

The stress marks around her face smoothed away as Hermione dipped her head down, "Yes... now that you're awake... yes, I believe that they will be fine. You'll help make things better, Harry, I know it."

Then she left, telling him to rest.

* * *

><p>"Finally, the riff raff have left."<p>

Harry jerked upwards against his pillows, staring wide eyed at the shadowy form of Tom Riddle sitting in the stool that Hermione had occupied earlier. He looked like a ghost except that his figure was not pearly white. Instead Tom looked to be in faded colour, like the shadows were eating away at his form. He was like smoke, fragile in the light of the hospital room.

"Don't speak," Tom ordered sharply, "and for god's sake, Potter, stop gaping like a fish. It's unbecoming."

"You..." Harry spluttered again.

He felt cool fingers press against his lips, forcing them shut. Tom Riddle was leaning over him, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Fool," he said softly. "Your vocal chords are damaged; don't stress them more than necessary. We can still speak within our minds."

Quickly, Harry asked him, _how is it that I can see you now? _

Tom shrugged, "I'm not sure. I only know that your magic has stopped repressing me since you awoke. I cannot maintain this form for long though. I only wanted to see if I could do it. This method could prove useful someday."

Harry slumped back against the pillows.

_This is... just... weird. There is so much I don't know about this horcrux business or about being the Master of Death, _he confided quietly. _Did you know that I can sense magic now? It feels like this whole building is alive and teeming with spells. And now we're speaking in my mind like friends... it's so very... surreal... like I don't know what's real and what's not anymore._

"Do you regret it then?" Tom asked stiffly.

For a moment, Harry had no idea what was meant by the question. But then Death's wager returned to his mind and Harry sat up quickly, shouting, "No!" before he began to hack again.

Fingers reached for Harry's chest and pushed him back down. "Reckless idiot, you'll hurt yourself even further if you keep acting this way! Lay down."

_I don't regret it. _Harry said over and over in his mind. The very idea of Tom, of anyone, being erased forever, was too much to bear. _I could never ever regret it. You don't deserve that fate. No one does._

The horcrux snorted, but did not move his fingers away from Harry's lips. Instead, he brought a hand and brushed it through Harry's hair, seeming fascinated by the very action. Harry knew he should feel uncomfortable but instead he felt content and warm, safe. The horcrux had done this before, only Harry hadn't been able to see him.

_I would miss you, I think, if I had come back without you... I think I would feel the missing presence in my head and I would feel lonely._

The horcrux paused and Harry feared that he's said something wrong.

"You have no idea what you are speaking of, Harry Potter. Sleep. I promise you that you won't dream for tonight. Your mudblood was correct, you need your rest. You're delirious. We will speak further... later... when you are fully healed."

He was about to protest that he was perfectly coherent, that some scars never truly healed, when the horcrux pressed his shadowy hand against Harry's eyes and Harry felt himself lulled into a dreamless slumber.

As always, Tom stayed by his side, watching his vessel sleep with something like softness in his eyes.

* * *

><p>When he next awoke, he could sense the presence of two magical cores by his bedside. Tom had retreated back into his mind and was probably observing everything quietly. Harry could hear his two friends, Ron and Hermione, discussing something in hushed tones. As Harry focused on his hearing, he realized that they were discussing him.<p>

"...What about Teddy? I just found out this morning... Kingsley told me... I don't know how to break it to Harry... it'll devestate him... he'll think it was his fault..."

"...Don't worry, Ron... we'll figure it out... Your brother and Fleur are taking care of Teddy for now, right? We can wait until Harry feels better..."

"...think that we should tell him about the scars soon..." Hermione was whispering to Ron.

"I dunno what to say about them. I mean, we obliviated everyone who saw them, the press, the staff, the students and the healers but we can't hide them forever. You saw the reactions that some of the students had when they saw the marks on his hand and his chest... they were scared. They think he might be going dark. We can't let anyone else know about them. So how do we tell Harry? You know what he'll think."

"Yes... he's likely to think he's going dark himself if he doesn't understand what they are. I can't understand them either. Just what are they and what do they mean? He's got the deathly hallows mark on his hand and then on his chest, where he was stabbed... the dark mark looks like it's been carved there by a knife."

Immediately Harry shot up, breathing haggardly and croaked, "...what...?"

"Harry!" Both his friends tried to force him to lie back down but he refused.

"...Tell... me..." He struggled to say.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, stop using your voice and we'll explain everything!" Ron shouted.

He was still, but glaring at them both to start speaking.

Hermione fidgeted under his gaze while Ron kept a steady hand on his shoulder, afraid that Harry might overreact or try to speak again.

"Take off the glove on your hand, Harry... and you'll see it."

An odd calm filled Harry when he stared down at his gloved hand, the same hand that he knew to be tattooed from his visit to King's Cross. He wanted to tell Hermione and Ron that it was fine, he knew exactly what that mark meant but he knew that they would both be cross if he strained his throat even more.

So Harry slowly slipped the gloves off, watching with interest that they were right. It looked as if his hand had been scarred with black ink with the deathly hallows' symbol.

The terms of Death's contract echoed in him. _Every wound you suffer here, you will experience when you awake._

"Do you... do you know what this means, Harry?" Hermione asked him gently when she saw no surprise on his face.

He nodded.

Ron relaxed, "Thank god. Well, what does it mean? Are you the Master of Death or something?" He added in a teasing tone.

Harry wrinkled his nose and mouthed, 'Actually, Ron... it does.'

Both of his friends gaped at him. Their reactions were very amusing; with Ron spluttering that Harry was joking while Hermione raked her hands through her hair and cursed the universe for landing her best friend into the worst situations.

"Explain!" Hermione pointed at him accusingly, then realizing that he couldn't speak very well, looked chastised, "Well, when you're speaking again, you _will _give us a proper explanation, Harry James Potter!"

She looked so fierce and terrifying that Harry had no choice but to agree.

"So what does that scar on your chest mean?" Ron asked.

Harry stared at them in confusion. He unbuttoned his shirt and peered down at the spot where his heart had been stabbed.

There, engraved in his skin, was the dark mark, right where the wound should have been.

The scar on his forehead prickled angrily and Harry hissed. Ron and Hermione hovered over him, asking him what was wrong.

_How dare he mark my vessel? _Tom hissed in his mind. _You are mine. Not his. He will pay the next time I see him... **Voldemort.**_


	5. Chapter 4: The Sins We Bear

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Healer Watson (he's basically an insert from the BBC Sherlock to fill up a role. You don't need any prior knowledge of Sherlock to read this story.)

Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews (anonymous and fellow users), they brighten my demeanour when I'm at University. I'm sorry for the long wait. I have been focuzed on my studies for second term. I meant to work on this chapter after my finals (in April) but I felt very inspired today. I had to rewrite the chapter and now I'm happy with the final product. I hope to update again after my finals (April 28th) and then I can return to weekly updates again.

* * *

><p><strong>Memento Mori, Memento Amor<br>Chapter 4: The Sins We Bear**

* * *

><p>There was only so much that Albus could do to entertain himself when his only company continued to rip his cards to shreds every time that he attempted another game. After the novelty of trying to strangle the former headmaster to death wore off (when Voldemort realized that, first, Albus was already dead and that, second, the silver restraints would return to confine him tighter if he tried to hurt the older man) the former dark lord resorted to creative and colourful insults, as well as murderous glares.<p>

Albus prided himself in being very immune to either after working with Severus for the past two decades. Instead he continued flipping through his cards, humming a tune that he had once heard from the muggle radio. It was "The Beetles" or something to that effect. Muggles always imagined the most charming names for their musical groups.

"What are you scheming now, you old coot?" His companion snarled, having given up on staring at the endless tangle of train tracks against the backdrop of white. Honestly, Albus was a little disappointed in him. His jibes were becoming more simplistic as time went on.

"I believe you've asked me that over forty times, Tom," Albus ignored the outrage in Voldemort's eyes at the use of his former name. He would continue to address Voldemort as such until Harry and the horcrux returned so that he could distinguish between the two soul fragments. "My plots to win this round of go fish have not changed."

"Damn the muggle cards, you know what I speak of! Why are you here in the crossroads? Why are you stuck in between life and death? Are you waiting for someone perhaps?" Voldemort sneered, "For your—"

"I'd appreciate it if you remained silent about my past, thank you," He replied coolly. "Gellert was killed by you many months ago. I saw—yes, Tom, the dead often watch everything you do, or have done, when you were alive. We find you to be a subject of great interest—Why would I be waiting for him if he's already passed on?"

Voldemort began to laugh, his body rocked back against the restraints, giving him the appearance of a muggle patient in an insane asylum. Albus had never been particularly fond of those muggle prisons; they could be as awful as Azkaban.

"I may not understand 'love,'" the dark lord continued, "but I can understand another kindred spirit. Grindelwald, if he is anything like me, fears death as well. He would have found a way to escape it, or at least, to flee from Death's judgement."

When Albus grew pale and dropped his cards, Voldemort's lipless mouth formed a cold leer.

"So I was correct. You and the boy are really too alike, Dumbledore—" _Wrong_, thought Albus, _Harry is nothing like me. He is better. He has never made the mistakes I have. He forgives. He is too good for the world of the living_ and _the dead. But you will come to understand it soon, Tom. You will. _"—Perhaps you are looking for your lover now? Journeying across worlds, dreaming of being fucked by—"

"_Enough!' _

The train lurched in Albus' anger. It was an extension of his heart. Even the engines seemed to magnify in sound, the rumbles surrounding the two wizards like symphonies of thunder had crashed from the heavens. Voldemort paled and attempted to crawl back, hitting his head against the boiler and hissing when he felt the red pain of hot iron.

Slowly Albus advanced towards him. "You will not speak of Gellert to me again," Albus said evenly, "or this train ride will be unpleasant for you. I have been kind to you because I feel that I have failed you in our former life, as a professor and a human being. I could not stop you from becoming the man you are today because I feared you more than I cared for you."

There was a screech. The wheels of the train were becoming rusty, shifting and sticking to the tracks as Albus continued.

"But if you post a threat to Harry or to Gellert, I will take action. It is for Harry's sake, and the feeble hope of an old man, that I agreed to be part of this quest. Remember that it is ultimately Harry who allows you to live at this moment."

And just then, in that single heartbeat, Albus allowed himself to feel the anger and frustration but then buried it within himself again, ashamed. He moved back feeling the years drag him back down again. "I am weak," he admitted, keeping his gaze sharp and formidable, "I could... snap at any moment. Old age, of course. Not the best memory."

Voldemort's eyes were wide and he spat at Albus' feet. "Showing your hand, Dumbledore? Is this what the leader of the light would do? How the order would cringe away from you if they knew what you were really capable of!"

Albus was silent for he knew that Voldemort was right. The dark lord was referring to Albus' rather open threat, his susceptibility to power and his sexuality. The order had looked up to Albus, even idolized him and believed him to be all-powerful, that he had all the answers. He took a long weary sigh and looked the age he had been when he'd fallen from the astronomy tower.

"I am not perfect, and I have never claimed to be. I know what I am," was all that Albus could offer. For what could Voldemort understand of humility or of regret for the weaknesses of a mortal heart?

Nothing. At least, not yet. Not until Harry.

So Albus took a leap of faith. He trusted his protégé and loved him like his own blood. Surely, he could trust in his own intuition again and admit another weakness in front of one of his former enemies?

"I am also here for atonement, Tom."

The dark lord snapped his head up in, what Albus was proud to think was, astonishment.

His features twisted, becoming more snakelike. "_You?_" He spat. "You must be _joking!_"

"No," Albus said solemnly, careful not to break his gaze. He had to be honest, even if he didn't want to say his reasons aloud. "I am not. I have killed also in the way, Voldemort. I have held lives in my hands and sacrificed them for the greater good. That does not make these actions right."

"_Oh, _do summon up a chorus of fey to weep for the great Saint Dumbledore! So good, so righteous and now paying for his crimes and weak heart!" Voldemort spat. "I don't believe you! Wars require sacrifices. Soldiers and commanders kill every day, look at the muggle world! I don't see _those _souls running around in nowhere, looking for _redemption_!"

"I killed my soulmate," Albus said quietly.

Voldemort stilled.

There was nothing but the groaning of the train to fill the silence.

"Soul mate..."

"Yes."

Voldemort laughed coldly, "That magic is a myth."

"I ripped his soul into pieces," Albus ignored him, "and I had no idea, the horror of the thing I had done, until it was too late. And now he wanders, incomplete, hiding from death. Soul magic is powerful, Tom. You should never meddle in it..."

Though that warning was too late. Voldemort had already ripped his soul in more than seven ways... but if what Albus suspected about the nature of Harry and Voldemort's connection was true...

_I will have to tell him when he returns tonight, _Albus reminded himself. _No more plotting alone. No more secrets._

When he saw that his companion was being uncharacteristically silent for once, Albus turned away and stared at the endless white. So many mistakes in his lifetime, so many regrets. And yet if Harry could find it in his heart to forgive his faults, to forgive his horcrux, perhaps Harry could truly learn to love Voldemort and all the pieces of his soul.

Perhaps, Albus too, could learn from Harry, learn how to forgive again.

"In any case," he whispered quietly, "you are a greater man than I could ever be, Harry James Potter. If anyone could heal Tom... and me... it will be you."

* * *

><p><em>Tom!<em>

The pain vanished the moment Harry called out to him and he felt cool fingers touch the scar on his head.

_Apologies, _Harry saw Tom standing there in the room, face unreadable. Neither Hermione nor Ron could see him. They were more preoccupied with calling for a healer, their movements panicked and protective for him. Harry wanted to reassure them, but it was difficult to focus on both Tom and his friends at once. _I did not realize my anger would cause you harm. It has never happened because of _my _emotions before... _Tom did not sound pleased to admit this.

It had always been Voldemort's anger, never the feelings of the horcrux dwelling within Harry, that caused his scar to hurt. Though Harry was starting to see that many things had changed since his magic had apparently stopped repressing Tom's presence...

_We need to discuss this, _Harry informed him. _The repercussions, _god, he was starting to sound like Hermione, _or how this will affect our lives..._

The horcrux's image seemed to flicker dangerously into the shadows and Harry saw the red in Tom's eyes flash.

_I would _never_ harm you!_

Harry hissed from the backlash of pain in his scar. Hermione and Ron were now shouting, trying to calm him. Ron had run out, now to fetch the medical staff. Harry wanted to say something (damn his throat!) but he could barely hear their voices...

_Tom, please, _Harry never thought he would say this to the dark lord of all people, _control yourself!_

The stabbing sensation stopped once more and when Harry saw that Tom appeared disturbed, fists clenched and eyes snapped shut.

_I see your point... _Tom's voice echoed in a controlled tone. _Very well, we will speak of this later. Your associates need calming. Do not mention the quest to them. I know you favour these two but you don't need _more _souls to worry about. Your _own_ emotional turmoil is enough to deal with. Get some rest, or I will force you into unconsciousness when they leave._

Harry frowned. He didn't like the way Tom had worded his reasoning but he could see the logic in it. Harry would tell his friends about the quest when his voice returned. There were some secrets that had to be told face-to-face.

But did he really want to admit that he had been a horcrux? Did he really want to explain his connection to Tom? Somehow, whatever relationship he had with the soul fragment, seemed private, intimate, in a way he could not describe. What were they now? Acquaintances? Partners? Strangers in the same body? Harry wasn't sure he could trust his friends not to overreact. He also wasn't sure how much he was allowed to tell the living about nowhere.

Ron had returned with a dumpy looking healer. He was a short man, with a lined face and kind blue eyes. Harry was surprised to see that this healer did not wear the same robes as the other staff, but muggle clothing (specifically a beige jumper and comfortable trousers). The overall effect made the healer seem more approachable and calming compared to the standoffish and intimidating healers Harry had seen in passing when he last visited St. Mungo's. His magical aura seemed just as peaceful, something that made Harry smile.

"Harry?" Hermione clutched his hand tightly, relief evident when she saw that he had stopped thrashing in the bed. "Are you alright, now?"

'Erm... yeah...' He mouthed, feeling ashamed and guilty for his reaction. He never liked it when people witnessed what happened when his scar pained him. 'I'm sorry for worrying you...'

"It's not your fault, Harry Potter. It never will be," Hermione said fiercely.

His best mate walked over to clap a hand on Harry's shoulder, exchanging a proud smile at his girlfriend before motioning to the man by Harry's bed, "This is Healer Watson, Harry. He's your assigned healer."

"I'm a muggleborn, sort of did both magical and muggle education... homeschooled in magic and trained to be a healer and a doctor... I prefer the muggle world's way of treating wounds. More practical when magic fails you." Watson's eyes crinkled up in a smile and Harry immediately liked the man. He didn't seem to notice Harry's name at all, and if he did, he didn't think it mattered.

Harry mouthed a 'nice to meet you' before Watson began to ask him questions about his scar. "You can just nod yes or no. I won't ask for details yet. It's probably irritating, having to mouth every word you want to say. Would you like your friends to stay?"

He nodded, clutching Hermione's hand tighter.

They were generic questions that Harry had heard before. Does your scar hurt often? At night or day? How often? (Hermione and Ron often interjected to provide details, for which Harry was grateful.) When Watson began to ask about Harry's other scars, the ones on his hands and his chest, he nearly panicked.

"Don't worry mate," Ron pushed Harry back against his pillows. "Watson swore an unbreakable vow. He can't tell anyone about them... or what they look like." He cast another admiring gaze at his girlfriend. "Hermione was very thorough on the wording."

Harry looked cautiously at Watson, who gave an encouraging smile. But Harry sighed and shook his head.

'I'm sorry,' He mouthed. 'But I can't tell anyone about these scars. They aren't cursed and shouldn't do me any harm,' at least he hoped not. He wasn't sure about the dark mark on his heart. Hopefully Albus or Tom would have answers, 'so I would ask you all not to pry.'

Watson nodded in understanding, though his friends had more to protest.

"But Harry, are you sure...?" Hermione seemed torn. "We don't know if they're like your lightning scar. They could hurt you!"

'Please... trust me.'

Ron shook his head, "Alright... if you say so, mate. I'll trust you." He shared one of those looks with Hermione. "We both will."

The rest of the session went well. Watson examined Harry's throat and was pleased to announce that now that Harry was awake, his magical core seemed to be speeding the healing process already.

"It should be better in a few days, actually. You must be a very powerful wizard with a great affinity for healing," Watson praised.

Harry suspected it had more to do with his magical core having more to spare to heal him. It no longer repressed Tom after all. But he didn't mention it.

He thanked Watson and said goodbye to Ron and Hermione when visiting hours were over. They were reluctant to leave but Harry assured them that he would be fine. He had a feeling that they wanted to speak with him about more urgent matters but mouthed that when his voice returned they could discuss everything that had happened post-Voldemort in detail.

When it was just Watson and him in the room, Harry asked him if he could visit Molly. Hopefully his friends hadn't convinced Watson that Harry wasn't allowed to.

"Of course," his healer nodded. "And I expect you'll want to visit Mr. Snape as well?"

His jaw dropped. Snape was alive?

"Oh," Watson's brow furrowed, "No one's told you yet. Well, we're not sure how he survived the poisoning... or the blood loss... It was rather strange. Horace, one of my acquaintances, found him barely breathing... in some sort of stasis. Very odd. Did you know that he was glowing? The symbol on your hand, yes, that one," Watson nodded at the deathly hallows inked on Harry's hand, "was floating above him. Once Horace reached him, well, the glow was gone. My colleagues rushed him to the hospital and he's been in a coma since then."

Harry's mind was racing with possibilities. He wasn't sure what to ask first, and, not for the last time that day, wished his voice would return.

Thankfully Watson seemed to know what he wanted to ask.

"Ah, yes, we know that he was working for Dumbledore. The memories that Ms. Granger tells me that you must have left in the pensieve were very useful for investigating aurors. He's been cleared of all charges for now. Though Minister Shacklebolt says that the public might want to see a trial... Are... are you alright, Mr. Potter? You seem pale!"

That was the least of Harry's worries. He wasn't sure what to think. On one hand, he was overjoyed to learn that Snape was alive. Snape's death had disturbed him more than any other he had witnessed before. Learning the truth about the potions master's loyalties had tilted Harry's world, making him regret many of the thoughts and actions he had taken against him... It had made him see what Albus had meant about understanding and respecting Snape...

On the other hand, Snape was in a bloody coma and might never wake up again! Harry wasn't sure what the deathly hallows could do, but sustaining a person's life until the healers could arrive? Wasn't that an abuse of power? How had the hallows done such a thing and _why_ had they done it? He certainly hadn't willed it (at least not consciously). Perhaps Snape wasn't meant to die at the shack? Perhaps the hallows were righting some sort of order?

_The library. I need to get to a library. _Harry conceded. He wouldn't be surprised if he had something worse than a migraine by the end of this day.

* * *

><p>Watson carried Harry to a wheelchair. He was too weak to stand and the healer assured Harry that this was just a side effect of his magic healing himself. Watson described Harry's vocal chords as being damaged by something more powerful than any of the staff could understand. It took a lot of Harry's magical core to fix it.<p>

The hallways were empty of other patients or healers. Harry was glad for he wasn't sure if he could stand any scrutiny. He was thankful that Watson had given him a nice pair of leather gloves to cover the inked mark on his hands and that his bangs were long enough to hide his scar. The quiet was comfortable, for Watson's presence did not pressure Harry into speaking. They were both content in their own thoughts.

They were in the spell damage ward. Harry recognized it from his fifth year and saw the room that Neville's parents were kept in. Quietly he promised to visit them afterwards and perhaps buy them some flowers. They might appreciate the sentiment. Watson wheeled Harry to the end of the hall, where the last door was.

"This is where we keep the comatose patients," he explained, and led Harry in. "Technically Mr. Snape should be on the first floor for creature-induced injuries... but once we got the poison out and gave him an antidote, the diagnostic spells reported him to be under spell damage or some sort... Mr. Snape and Mrs. Weasley are located at the end of the room. I'll leave you to it for half an hour and if you need any longer you can just tell me then, Mr. Potter."

Then Watson left and Harry rolled his wheelchair past the beds of sleeping wizards and witches.

It was eerie. Harry knew that these men and women might never wake up and yet they seemed to be fast asleep, as if Harry could just touch them on the shoulder and they might see him. He felt a growing sense of dread when he spied Mrs. Weasley and Snape's beds at the end of the rows.

There he saw George, sitting on a stool and staring at his mother's face. Percy sat beside him, a hand on his brother's shoulder. Ginny hovered, not quite still. She moved back and forth, her restless energy rolling off of her. Mr. Weasley was not in sight, neither were Charlie or Bill. They were probably working to fix the damages from the war, as Ron, Hermione and Ginny had informed him.

Harry felt his throat tighten and he waited for them to notice him.

Ginny's face lit up when she spotted him. The wrinkles that he thought he saw there lessoned, "Harry!" She went to embrace him and then stopped, "What are you doing here? You should be in bed, recuperating," She said in perfect imitation of Hermione. But there was an undertone that told Harry that she was glad for the company. She looked deranged and unhinged, her red hair a mess and her robes wrinkled.

He smiled shakily and motioned to Molly. _I had to see her, _he wanted to say. But Ginny saw what he meant to say, she understood.

She rolled him over so that he could touch Mrs. Weasley's hand. He hesitated at first, caught off guard at the sight of the strong matriarch now frozen in a magical sleep. He was reminded of the old muggle fairy tale sleeping beauty, wondered what it would take to wake her.

"I'm... so... sorry..." he said aloud, his throat aching with his words.

"Don't speak, Harry," Ginny and, to his surprise, Percy said at once.

Percy looked like a corpse of himself. There were bags under his eyes and he had lost weight, as had George and Ginny. He seemed to have a permanent haunted look in his eyes and twitched every other minute. Percy shrugged. "Ron and Ginny told us about your throat. You don't need to force yourself. If it weren't for you defeating you-know-who, we'd all be dead."

George said nothing, only staring at his mum, at the ghosts only he could see. He was like a body whose soul had been stolen by a Dementor's kiss, unable to respond to the rest of the world.

Harry looked away. As much as he wanted to stay, he wasn't sure if he could remain in the grieving atmosphere that surrounded Molly Weasley's bedside. This was a private place, for family and Harry wasn't a Weasley, no matter how much he had wanted to be when he was younger.

And wasn't it his fault that Fred was gone?

_No, it is not. _He could hear Tom whisper, as if the horcrux was leaning over his shoulder, taller now. _What did I tell you about worrying for others, Harry?_

He ignored the jibe and touched Molly's hand.

_I promise, _Harry thought, _I won't let your family break apart. I will keep them together for you so that when you wake up, you are home._

* * *

><p>When Watson came by, Harry told him that he would like another half hour. He hadn't seen Snape yet. He had been unable to leave Mrs. Weasley, despite his discomfort and so he said a quiet goodbye to the Weasley children. None of them seemed to notice that he had left. They were like one unit, focused only on their missing piece.<p>

Snape's bed was concealed by a wall of curtains, hiding the spy from peering eyes. Harry struggled for a moment with trying to move his wheelchair through the curtains and freeing the wheels from being caught in the fabric but successfully passed through.

His former professor was laid against the mattress, paler than frost etched on glass. Harry was still, uncertain as he took in the details and lines on Snape's face, and how his bones seemed to stick out at odd angles like someone had forgotten to give him flesh. He shivered when he touched Snape's fingers. They were cold and brittle, as if they might snap with the slightest movement.

It was so wrong to see Snape in this state, like he wasn't alive or dead, just barely holding onto his shallow breaths.

Harry recalled how Snape had died and the nature of Snape's last request... (_"Look at me...")_ This was the man who had loved his mother, who loved her so much yet he couldn't see her within Harry, not until he stared at his eyes...

Hermione had wanted Harry to hurry out of the shack once they had bottled Snape's last memories. But Harry had lingered to cross Snape's arms. He had touched Snape's cheek, fading in warmth. He had actually prayed for him, numbly, a small _rest in peace _because as much as he had disliked the man, being torn apart by Nagini was not a good way to die.

And after he had looked at Snape's memories, seen the truth, Dumbledore's final plan... well... Harry had felt so numb. He couldn't comprehend hating someone so much that the hatred would extend to the man's son. He couldn't comprehend the depth of love that Snape had (though obsessive and bordering on wrong at times) for his mother. He'd never experienced anything like it...

_Snape didn't deserve to die like that._ He remembered thinking first, when he stumbled out of the pensieve. _Snape didn't deserve to _live _like that. _He couldn't let the lonely image of the pale and awkward boy, looking hungrily at his mother, out of his mind. _I wish he could have had another chance. I wish I had had another chance to show him that life could have been better._

But then he remembered that he was destined to die at Voldemort's hand... he always had been... and he'd made the walk to the forbidden forest, promising to redeem for his sins with his death...

Now they were both alive, but only just.

"It's because you are the Master of Death, and you made a request without truly wanting it to be granted."

Harry jerked back in his chair, gaping when he saw Death standing beside him, looking at Snape thoughtfully.

"Are you here to take his soul to the train station?" Harry blurted out, feeling dread bubble in his stomach.

"No. Not quite yet. Just here to explain a few things."

"Oh."

Death gave an amused huff and leaned forward on his cane, "Your witty remarks are slowed by grief and regret. I will forgive it for today. Now... about Severus Snape... Your wish was granted by the hallows after you became the master of death because it was unintentional, pure. Much like your wish to see your loved ones with the resurrection stone, rather than bring them back from the dead."

Harry noted the delicate and practised spacing of Death's words and realized one thing.

"Snape is still going to die, isn't he? I mean, he was supposed to die in the shack."

Unlike when he was addressing Voldemort, Death appeared as if he was trying to be more apologetic, "Yes. He was. But your wish brought him more time, to live life more fully if it were."

He felt heat building up in his throat, behind his eyes and he fixed his glare straight ahead. He felt ridiculous, tearing up like this. But how could he not? Didn't Snape deserve more time? And yet wasn't it more cruel to have him live life so fully only to die so soon after?

It wasn't his place to judge. People died or they lived. People had second chances or they didn't. It was the way of the world.

"You are learning," Death nodded at him, as if he could read Harry's thoughts. Maybe he could.

"How much time does he have?" Harry asked quietly.

"Anything from a few months to three years. Three _is _the absurdly magical number that the hallows are fixed upon," Death shrugged nonchalantly. "It depends a lot on you. And a lot on him."

When Death left him, Harry was alone with his thoughts and the limited breaths of the brave man in the hospital bed.

* * *

><p><em>...Are you alright...?<em>

Harry blinked out of his somber thoughts and inclined his head curiously at Tom's uncharacteristic tentativeness.

He smiled. _Are you worried about me?_

The apparition crossed his arms and turned away. But Harry could picture the scowl there. _Your health is of my concern as it affects how often I can appear in front of you. But on a whole, what you do matters little to me._

Lying back against his pillows, Harry ignored the remark and thought over the events of the day. Was it possible that only a few hours had passed? He felt like he had lived an entire decade then. Tom Riddle's fractured soul, being the Master of Death, the horcrux, his new scars, Bellatrix, Mrs. Weasley's coma and Professor Snape's limited time...

So many problems to think of and yet Harry felt as unprepared as ever. He neither felt all powerful or wise. Even with all the time that had passed, he was still just Harry, only sadder, more thoughtful. (And yet, it made all the difference.) His troubles were just beginning. Harry knew that his friends had wanted to tell him more, something about his reputation or worse...

_What are you thinking of? _Tom moved beside him.

Harry closed his eyes. _I thought you always knew what I'm thinking._

_Wrong, _Tom replied. _Only the strong thoughts. Your mundane worries lose translation to me. But I can still feel them, like static on a muggle radio. It's annoying. Make it stop._

Tom was not pleased when Harry burst into giggles (that elapsed into more dry coughs) instead.

_Oh would you stop straining your vocal chords for once? Honestly, you _must _have a death wish. It's a wonder you haven't died yet. Oh wait. You have. _Twice! _It's only irrational luck that you've survived for this long or an unhealthy attachment to death._

The soul fragment pushed Harry back down to the bed, glaring at Harry if his shoulders so much as twitched in further laughter.

_You're horrible at comforting people, Tom. _

Said soul scowled at him and told him to shut up. But he did not move his hands from Harry's shoulders nor did he move his intent gaze from Harry's eyes.

It was odd, but Harry noticed that the horcrux was taller now. No longer in a child form, but perhaps twelve now, growing stronger as time passed. He looked like Harry did, in his second year, when he had first met Riddle in the diary. Soon Harry might meet that diary horcrux again, in another world.

_I'm so tired, Tom. _He admitted, though they both knew that it was only the late afternoon. There was a clock in the hallway that they had passed. _I think I'd like to dream tonight. We can ask Albus some questions, get some answers about the quest... and the dark mark._

His scar prickled again, but only in light irritation, like a scrape when one slips on the pavement.

_Yes... _Tom's grip on Harry's shoulder tightened. _I have many things I wish to say to my original soul. He will pay for marking you._

Harry sighed, too exhausted to argue. Tom seemed to sense this, for he dampened his emotions and then crawled into the bed to lie beside him. Harry was mildly alarmed, but Tom only pressed a finger against Harry's lips. He wondered if he was supposed to feel the cool touch, what it meant that he did.

_Trust me. This will help you dream._

Questions raged, wanting to slip from Harry's lips. What did Tom mean? What was he about to do? Would he sleep for weeks on end again after visiting the station? But something in Tom's demeanour called out to Harry and calmed him. He did not argue.

Then Tom carefully took Harry's hand and they slipped under.

* * *

><p>Harry dreamed at first, in quick flashes, whirling like the films he had sneaked a look at when Dudley hadn't paid attention. They were falling into a pool of stars, passing through clouds of space and time.<p>

He saw three figures speaking to the elderly death; his parents looked sorrowfully at him when he stared at the Dursleys enjoying a family dinner while he poked at leftovers by the doorway.

He saw Mrs. Weasley, trapped in a palace of thorns, calling out to her family. But they passed her by, crying over a body that wasn't hers anymore. Oh how she wanted them to hear her!

He saw Professor Snape, on a precipice, one side littered with grave markers, the other too beautiful and ugly to contemplate. Snape was trying to cross to the side of the graves, but something pulled him back towards the jagged, wonderful and horrible side of the precipice.

He saw Remus and Tonks, wispy images in the wind, whispering to their baby boy. Andromeda was there too and she blew kisses at both Teddy and Harry. The three of them looked lovingly at them both, whispered for them to take care of each other...

Then there was Bellatrix. Everywhere she stepped, it burned. She was cackling, setting chaos wherever she went. She didn't care anymore. She just wanted the world to burn, more importantly, Harry Potter would burn.

And there... Harry could feel it... little bursts of light so familiar to him, calling to him. There was seven pieces, one in Tom, who was pulling him through the dreams. Six more in the distant, calling out to Harry, calling him by a strange melody that he both missed and didn't recognize.

Tom tugged on Harry's wrist harder, when it appeared that Harry was drifting off.

They fell more sharply, past more images Harry couldn't comprehend and would never be able to. They were flashes of colour. Bits of emptiness and longing, mixed into the chaos of the sky. They were bits of nowhere, covered with white. Everything and anything and nothing wrapped into one.

And when Harry opened his eyes again, he was holding hands with Tom on the familiar train.

Albus Dumbledore beamed at them from the conductor's seat.

"Why, hello, my dear boy. It is good to see you so early."

* * *

><p>Somehow Albus was not surprised to see that the horcrux Tom skipped pleasantries altogether to march over to his other counterpart. What Albus was surprised by was Tom grabbing Voldemort by the cuff of his robes to hiss at him.<p>

"You marked _my _vessel! You _will _pay for what you have done!"

Albus was not sure what Tom was speaking of, but Harry appeared to. He was trying to push Tom away from Voldemort, attempting to placate him.

But Voldemort was sneering at him, a smug expression in his eyes, "Oh? Did I? I don't remember. Then again, isn't it your job to protect your vessel from such marks?"

"I was at the station! You ripped me from my proper place when you _killed him _in the forbidden forest! For that I will _never forgive you!_"

Oh dear. Albus felt more concerned by the second. Only Tom Riddle would take self-loathing to such a level!

"He's mine. Was always mine to kill. I only signed my work. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same, after all _I am you and you are me."_

Tom launched himself at Voldemort, until they were both writhing on the floor. Before Albus could move, he saw Tom with his hands around Voldemort's neck, his face triumphant and rampant for murder (and oh god, why had he thought that Tom Riddle was capable of changing—?)

"This is for trying to kill my vessel," Tom hissed, "in the very same way!"

"TOM, STOP!" Harry roared.

The silver restraints returned and tied up both soul fragments so that they were confined back into their respective corners. Harry towered over them, his magic rippling in anger to the even rumbles of the train.

"Stop trying to kill each other!" Harry shouted. "It's counterintuitive to kill yourself. Merlin, I don't even know what to think about you two, let alone another six of you. I hope you don't all try to murder each other. It's enough to make me want to off myself."

He paced back and forth in between the conductor's spot and the little engine room.

"You're both over fifty years old, aren't you? Well start acting like it. There is no gain in aggravating each other when it takes away from the original goal."

"And what is that, Potter?" Voldemort looked like he wanted to bite Harry's fingers off.

"Keeping your soul," Harry answered. "Or would you rather be wiped from existence? A lot worse than death, I'm afraid."

Voldemort paled, as if he had not given the situation this perspective before. Judging from his instable attempts to murder (and when that didn't work) and ridicule Albus, this seemed likely. The dark lord could hardly think logically without a seventeen year old wizard dictating his thoughts for him. It was sad to see what could happen when you mangled your soul to that extent.

"Very well, Potter," the dark lord conceded stiffly. "But when I regain enough power, I will kill you and escape back to the living. I swear on it."

"Perfect," Harry rolled his eyes. "I look forward to the constant attempts on my life." He turned to Tom and frowned. "Look, I know you feel... possessive over me because I carry you as a horcrux but stop trying to kill... yourself, alright? He may have marked me (and I'm not sure of the consequences yet) but _you marked me first_," He lifted the fringe of hair that covered his lightning scar, "so that makes me yours still, does it not?"

Neither of the soul fragments of Tom could answer him and Albus was reminded again of how extraordinary his protégé really was.

"Now," Harry addressed Voldemort. He pulled his robe apart to reveal the dark mark scarring his heart. "What does this mean?"

The dark lord took a sharp breath and Albus noted the way his eyelids seemed to flutter with pleasure at the sight. Albus, on the other hand, wanted to whisper healing spells, any one, and vanish the dark mark from Harry's skin.

"It really is an ordinary scar," though Albus had an inkling that this scar was anything but, "I was planning on marking your corpse when I stabbed you with my wand, as testament to who your killer was, to whom you really belonged. It will never fade, no wounds inflicted by wand stabbings do."

Harry recoiled in disgust while Tom scowled at Voldemort. ("Harry is _my _vessel," Albus heard him hiss.) "You mean there have been other buggers who decided that it would be great to stab people with their wands?"

"Oh yes," Voldemort had the most delighted expression on his face. "Several every century. Usually it's an act of madness, signing the victim with a personal signature forever. The corpse will never rot, you see. It's common for the murderer to put the body on display, allow their followers to see who killed them. Unfortunately frowned upon in wizarding society... It is too muggle to kill that way. Wizards don't enjoy seeing the blood on their hands. Personally, I think it's quite lovely."

Albus was beginning to feel ill and he could see that Harry felt the same. He decided to interject. One could only take so much interaction with Voldemort in one night, and they had to cover some ground on their first day.

"How about I explain a few things about the train station, my boy?"

His favourite student was relieved, "Yes, please."

"I'll try to tell you everything that I can as we take the train forward. But I might forget a few things so feel free to ask questions as you see fit. I will answer them to the best of my ability and with complete honesty."

Harry only stepped by Albus' side, "Thank you."

Albus put a hand on his shoulder. "Now, since we're running late on time tonight, I will first tell you how to sense the other horcruxes. This will point us in the right direction."


End file.
